


Closer

by BuckytheDucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Kidfic, M/M, Marvel Bang 2018, No-powers AU, Time jumps abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 22:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16564004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckytheDucky/pseuds/BuckytheDucky
Summary: Steve is content with his life ー he has a great job at SHIELD as a comic book-writer, he has great friends and a terrific Ma, and his apartment is good enough. He doesn’t need more, no matter how much Bucky pesters him about putting himself out there. Of course, Life has a funny way of throwing curveballs, as evidenced by the fact that Steve suddenly has a toddler in his doorway as the kid’s father is running out the front door.Contrary to his previous beliefs, taking care of a child is really not all that bad. Sure, Steve has no freaking idea of what he’s doing, but he handles it well enough. Peter’s a great kid, which makes Steve’s life easier. What makes Steve’s life not-so-easier is Peter’s father. Steve has absolutely seen the other man around the apartment building once or twice, and well, yeah, he’s gorgeous, but Steve isn’t looking.Until he finds himself as Peter’s permanent after-school babysitter and falling for Tony Stark himself.





	Closer

The little boy’s dark eyes are wide as he stands right outside the door, staring up at Steve. Steve stares back.

“Well, shit.”

____________________

The day started off like any other: The alarm sounded at precisely 6:30, though as usual, he was already out of bed and had been since before six o’clock. Steve ate his normal Friday-morning breakfast of scrambled eggs and avocado on dry toast, swallowing it down with a glass of orange juice. He then took his customary shower, brushed his teeth, and got dressed. By the time he got out the door, the clock had just switched to 7:10 and the cleaning crew was letting themselves into the apartment across the hall. Pleasantries exchanged and his door locked, Steve set off down the stairs, out the main entrance, and in the direction of work.

He was the first to arrive at SHIELD, but that was nothing new. He quickly set up the coffee machine in the breakroom. Coulson arrived right after the coffee finished brewing; in his hand was a bag of pastries from Mama Wilson’s Cafe. Steve accepted the blueberry crumble muffin he was offered with a simple “Thanks, Phil” and let the Head of the Photography Division go on his way. Sam and Natasha were the next to arrive, sharing sleepy smiles and innocent touches; they stopped by to say hello to Steve and share details of the gallery event the night before. Natasha was in the middle of telling Steve how one of the attendees mistook her for an escort (“He seriously told me that I’m too beautiful and ‘fuckable’ to be just a model, then ordered me to tell my boss that if ‘he ever needs more money, I’ll gladly pay double what he needs for a night with you.’”) when Clint stumbled in, bleary-eyed and making a beeline for the pot of coffee.

Bucky’s loud voice was heard before the man himself was seen. He dropped a tin of cookies on Steve’s desk, pressed a kiss to Clint’s rumpled hair, and headed across the hall to join the rest of his colleagues. Kate and Pietro were the last to show up. By that time, the clock read 8:30, and it was time to start the day. The office was full of all of them talking over one another, asking for advice on their work or hurling good-natured jabs at each other – especially Clint and Pietro, who’ve had some sort of competition between themselves since Pietro joined the crew. The actual animosity between the “old man” and the “smart-ass kid no one would miss” disappeared after Pietro proved his artistic talent when his first comic didn’t flop miserably, and they’ve been like siblings ever since.

After work, Steve met up with his mother for an early dinner, stopped by the small market on the corner for a few groceries, then headed home for a night working on the concept art for his next story arc and a few episodes of _In the Heat of the Night_ he’d set his DVR to record while he was out. He’d just started fleshing out the newest character in his latest comic when he had been interrupted by a frantic pounding on the door. He hadn’t expected to see the man from across the hall standing on the other side. It was even more of a surprise to see a little boy clinging to his hand.

“I’m sorry, but can you please watch Peter for a bit? There’s an e-m-e-r-g-e-n-c-y, and I can’t take him with me, I’ll explain later, thanks. Hurt my kid, and I’ll kill you.”

The man was gone before Steve could even blink. And now he’s been left staring down at a miniature version of his neighbour, feeling overwhelmed and a lot like he’s been sucker-punched in the last five seconds. The boy – Peter, who looks about five – is clutching a tattered stuffed pig in one hand, the fingers of the other hand stuffed in his mouth. A small bag dangles from one tiny shoulder, and a little piece of paper is pinned to the sleeve of his bright yellow pyjama shirt, interrupting the pattern of vivid pink cartoon ponies. Steve steps out of the way, shuts the door once Peter is fully inside. The awkward silence drags out until finally, Steve can’t handle it. He leads the child to the couch, grabbing his cell phone from the table, and heads to the bathroom.

“Hey, Stevie, are you missin’ me already?”

“Ma, ya gotta help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You remember me tellin’ you about the man who lives across the hall from me?”

“If you’re talkin’ about the man you think is ‘aesthetically pleasing’ and has a kid, then yes.”

Steve exhales sharply but ignores the slightly mocking tone in his mother’s voice. “Yeah, him. Well, he said there was some sort of–of emergency and left his kid with me.” He pauses, tries to stave off the panic by taking deep, measured breaths. “What do I _do_? I’ve never taken care of a kid before, let alone a stranger’s. We’ve barely spoken, just a few ‘hello’s here and there, and now he’s trusting me with the wellbeing of his kid! He threatened to _kill_ me, Ma!”

“The dad or the kid?”

“The dad – this isn’t funny, Ma, stop laughin’!”

“Oh, darling, I’m not making fun of you. But Steve, calm down. It’s a child, not a bomb bringing about the end of the world. Just feed the kid if he’s hungry, turn on cartoons or give him a pen and paper if he’s bored. Treat him nice, and if you’re really this uncomfortable about it, tell the father you can’t do it again. Steve?”

“Yeah, Ma?”

“You can handle this. ‘S’easier than all those fights you got into as a child. Or, at the very least, less painful.”

“Ha ha ha.”

“Call me in the morning, baby. Let me know how it goes.”

Steve chances a glance at his reflection, wincing at the sight. He hurriedly splashes cold water on his cheeks in hopes of restoring colour to his pale skin. It works, somewhat. With one last steadying breath, he pulls the door open and heads back out to the living room. He’s surprised to find Peter still sitting on the couch; every person he knows that has kids has told him stories about their children being unable to stay motionless for more than thirty seconds. The child doesn’t look up from the pig in his hands.

“What’s a ‘mergency?”

Shit. “An emergency is a, a situation that requires immediate attention. Um…say I fall down the stairs and break my leg. I’d have to go to the doctor right away, right?” At Peter’s tiny nod, Steve releases a breath. “That would be an emergency.”

“Why did Daddy bring me here? Why didn’t he call Mommy to come get me?”

Steve sits gently beside Peter. “Well, if your daddy had an emergency, it means he probably didn’t have time to call your mommy. He put together your bag really fast, right? Which means he was in a rush. I’m closer, so he brought you here because he had to take care of the emergency and couldn’t wait until your mom got here to do so.”

“Will he come back for me?”

“Of course he will. He loves you very much and would never, ever leave you behind. So… I have to ask. Who’s this super-cool pig you got here?”

“This is Piggly.”

“I like that name.”

“He’s my best friend. I tell him all my secrets, and he keeps monsters away while I s’eep.”

“Sounds like an amazing best friend. Hey, I’m Steve, by the way.”

Peter finally looks up, just a quick flick of his eyes from his stuffed animal to Steve’s face. “I’m Peter. I’m five in three months.”

“Yeah? I’m twenty-nine.”

“Wow,” breathes the child, staring at Steve with wide-eyed awe. “That’s old.”

Steve can’t help it, – he bursts into laughter at the complete innocence in Peter’s voice. Once he’s calmed down and explained to the disgruntled four-year-old that he isn’t laughing at him, Steve offers a banana as a snack, and a sketchbook and set of coloured pencils as entertainment. Thankfully, this is enough to keep Peter occupied; the drawing that fills the page is surprisingly detailed for coming from such young hands. Steve gives praise and asks the youngster about the picture, and Peter rewards him with a brilliant smile and an explanation of everything.

Steve allows himself to get lost in his own work for his comic, so deeply in the zone that he doesn’t notice exactly when Peter falls silent. He’s just finished the rough draft of the newest character and is moving to show the kid, stopping instantly when he sees Peter sprawled across the living room floor. Feeling like a creeper, he snaps a quick photo (just to show Peter’s father, of course) before rising to his feet. He gently picks up the child, moving slowly and gingerly in order to not wake him up, and lays him down on the couch. After tucking Piggly securely under Peter’s arm, Steve drapes a throw blanket over the small body and unpins the paper from Peter’s sleeve.

_Any troubles, call._

Under the message is a string of numbers. Steve sticks the note to the fridge door with a gaudy Las Vegas magnet he picked up at Goodwill three years ago. Quickly turning out the lights, he crosses the room, drops down into the armchair, and mutes the television.

Gentle knocking on the door brings Steve out of his light dozing. He checks that Peter is still asleep, heading to the door after the child lets out a shuddering breath and rolls onto his back. The man from across the hall stands there, looking dead on his feet, but he manages to give Steve a small smile.

“How was he?”

“He was great. He’s asleep on the couch. Want me to wake him up for you?”

“Oh, God, no, please don’t. He’d never go back to sleep if he wakes up now. I’ll just carry him.”

Steve snorts softly when the man stumbles as he steps inside. “How about _I_ carry the breakable child while you grab the less fragile things?”

“Yeah, that might work,” the man concedes through an enormous yawn.

His movements slow, Steve slides one arm beneath Peter’s legs, the other around his tiny shoulders, and carefully cradles the child against his chest as he follows the man into their apartment. Peter’s room is lit by a small night-light that’s sending an image of the solar system onto the ceiling. The walls are plastered with posters of more cartoon ponies, drawings, and a huge print of Optimus Prime and Bumblebee. His bedsheets are mismatched as well: A Cat in the Hat fitted sheet, Doc McStuffins pillowcase, and a Mulan comforter, all in a pirate ship bed-frame. Steve lays Peter down on his bed and steps back to allow his father to tuck him in. He steps out of the room when the man starts whispering to his sleeping child.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for just...forcing him on you.”

Steve turns away from the photograph he’s examining, away from the smiling faces of dad and son sharing a bowl of ice cream; he smiles slightly. “I’ll admit, I was a bit overwhelmed. Called my ma to freak out, and she laughed at me. But Peter and I, we figured it out. Like I said, he was good, just watched TV and drew until he fell asleep.”

“That’s…that’s good. He’s usually well-behaved, but he also usually has more than five minutes’ warning about a sudden shift in schedule.”

“No worries. I guess, uh, guess I’ll see you around. Have a good night.”

Steve dips his head in a quick goodbye and heads back to his own apartment. The television is still on; the glow flickers, sends dancing shadows across the wall. He presses the power button, stumbles his way to the bathroom, and brushes his teeth. His alarm clock tells him it’s almost three in the morning. He doesn’t bother undressing or crawling under the covers, just falls asleep sprawled out on the bed.

 

 

The sun shines directly in his eyes by the time Steve wakes up. He fumbles for the clock, panic settling in when he sees it’s past ten a.m. In his attempt to get out of bed, he manages to trip over the edge of the comforter, stub his toe on the bed-frame, and slam his forehead against the wall while trying to regain his balance. He hurries through a cold shower, not giving the water time to warm up, and eats the last apple on his jog to work.

**CLOSED.**

He stares at the innocent sign hanging on the glass door to SHIELD Comics and Photography. The letters don't magically rearrange themselves before his eyes; he drags a hand over his face, turns toward home.

Peter and his father are standing on the landing outside his door when Steve returns.

"Who'd you get in a fight with in the last few hours?"

"Huh?"

"You have a spectacular bruise."

"I, uh... I lost my footing in my rush to get to work."

The man looks confused and disgusted. "What kind of job makes you work on a Saturday?"

"Yeah, I realised my mistake after I'd already gotten there."

"Daddy, ask him already!" Peter whines as he tugs on his dad's T-shirt.

"Calm down, Pip, I'm getting to it. So, Steve, Peter and I go for brunch every Saturday morning. Since you took decent enough care of the little pipsqueak last night, I figured feeding you is the least I can do to say thank you."

The words are said nonchalantly, but he has the air of a man both uncomfortable and uneasy with whatever answer he might receive. The four-year-old, however, stares up at Steve with wide, pleading eyes. Steve finds he cannot say no; he drags his gaze from Peter's hopeful face to his father's.

"On one condition. You tell me your name."

The man's brow raises; his mouth opens and closes a few times before he clears his throat."Tony. Now, come on, or Peter's liable to eat his own hands."

Steve takes the time to set his bag on the table just inside his door, then follows the pair down to the underground parking garage. Tony clips Peter into his car seat with the ease only a parent has. Once the door is shut, Tony gestures toward the front passenger door with a small, teasing smirk.

"I only open my date's doors, sorry."

Steve flushes furiously, fumbling for the door handle. Tony's laughter, thankfully, isn't malicious or mocking, just amused. The car passes multiple diners and restaurants, but Tony doesn't appear to even glance at any of them as they travel in stop-and-go traffic. The silence between the adults would be awkward if not for Peter's excited chatter; he talks animatedly about Optimus Prime and the rest of the Transformers, the kind of dog he wants ("One who can play with me and love me, and I can love it, and it can even sleep in my bed!"), his pre-kindergarten class and all the things he's learning, and even what he liked about the shows he watched while in Steve's care. Tony's brow furrows when his son mentions "Chief G'espie" and "Dibbs", and Steve makes a note to explain further at a later time.

By the time the car comes to a stop, they've driven for nearly forty-five minutes, Peter has begun entertaining himself with a hidden object book, and Steve has started feeling like an idiot for not being able to think of acceptable conversation starters. Tony hasn't seemed to feel uncomfortable by the silence, however, so Steve doesn't bring it to his attention. Peter immediately latches onto Steve's hand once he's out of the car, and Steve darts a glance in Tony's direction. All the brunet does is smile and wrap his fingers around his son's free hand.

The small diner they walk into is unlike any other diner Steve's ever seen. The walls are a sunny yellow, decorated with pictures of the past; dark tables have actual place-mats ringing a basket of condiments and tidy menus in the centre. Tony leads them to a booth toward the middle of the far wall. Peter lets go of Steve, clambers onto the seat, and sits on his knees. Tony slides in beside him, and Steve takes the other side. He stares at the photograph on the wall - the man in it looks vaguely familiar.

"That would be my father."

He turns his head toward Tony who doesn't look exactly happy about the announcement. "Oh. Okay. So what is this place?"

"This," replies Tony with a grin, the sight of which makes Steve release a relieved breath that the change of subject was the right thing to do, "is the place to go for the best damn pancakes and coffee in the world." Tony grabs a menu, holding it out across the table; his brow is furrowed again as if he's confused about something. "A friend brought me here when I was younger, and I never forgot it. I'd come back a few times a month, even without Rhodey."

"The coffee must be magical, then."

"It really is," laughs Tony, and Steve drops his gaze to the menu in his hands.

" _May's_. I've never heard of it."

The brunet shrugs. "Not many people in the city have. If they do, they rarely care enough to drive so far out of their way for food they can get near home. Honestly? They don't know what they're missing out on."

The menu options are straightforward, and everything sounds delicious. Steve orders a cup of coffee and the breakfast platter. His jaw drops when Peter asks for a stack of pancakes, hash-browns, sausage links, and coffee. Steve's not exactly the type to question a person's parenting techniques, but giving a four-year-old coffee sounds like a terrible idea. He catches Tony's gaze, calculating and challenging, and closes his mouth. The last thing he wants to do is offend the other man. Tony orders coffee as well, along with a spinach and egg white omelette. The waitress flashes them all a smile before bouncing away. She comes back moments later with three mugs; two are full of coffee, but the third has -

Chocolate milk.

Steve feels his face burn in a combination of mortification and guilt. Of course Tony wouldn't allow his son to actually drink something so loaded with caffeine. A voice cuts through the low chatter of the other diners, and Steve looks up in time to see an older gentleman making his way through the tables, a wide grin on his face.

"Uncle Ben!"

Peter climbs over Tony's lap, launching himself into Ben's arms the moment the man is close enough. Ben's laughter is warm, infectious, as he embraces the child tightly.

"How's my favourite nephew?"

"I'm okay. Daddy had to leave yesterday for a 'mergency -" Here, Tony's eyes flash dangerously in Steve's direction, and Steve makes another mental note of yet another thing to explain and possibly apologise for. "- so I stayed with Steve, he lives 'cross the hall, and we drawed and coloured and watched TV and then I ax'dently fell asleep before Daddy came back, but Steve was really nice, so Daddy brought him here with us to thank him."

"Sounds like you had a busy night, kiddo. Why don't you go sit back down, the food will be out in a minute. It's great to see you again, Tony."

Ben nods at Steve once Peter is back in his seat. True to the old man's word, their plates arrive within moments. The trio eats in silence, even though Steve wants to stand on the table and sing praises about the French toast and scrambled eggs he's devouring. Tony smiles like he knows exactly what's going on inside Steve's brain. Steve is surprised when he sees that Peter eats almost three-quarters of his food; Tony goes to the till to pay, and Steve takes advantage of the fact his back is turned to pull out his wallet. He slides a ten under the edge of his plate, hurriedly shoving the billfold back into his pocket as Tony turns towards the table. Peter giggles when Steve puts a finger to his own lips.

"And what are you two plotting over here?"

"Can't tell you, Daddy, it's our secret!"

"It's against the law to keep secrets from your dad, Pete, so 'fess up."

Peter's laughter increases, and he shakes his head. "No, it isn't!"

"Well, it should be," Tony replies with an exaggerated pout. "All right, spider monkey, time to head home. Go say 'bye to Uncle Ben. So, not gonna tell me what you and my kid are keeping from me?" questions the brunet as soon as Peter's out of earshot.

"I promise it's nothing bad."

"I still don't appreciate someone conspiring with my kid against me."

Steve sighs, fingers gripping the bill and pulling it free. He holds it up so Tony can see it clearly. "You paid for the meal, so I figured I'd get the tip."

"You..." Tony bursts into laughter, his head dropping into his hands. "You are so ridiculous. Oh, my God, I included the tip when I paid, wow, I wasn't expecting that. Okay, I'm sorry. I really did not expect the secret to be a damn tip."

Steve shrugs, cheeks burning again. "It's okay. I should have thought about what it might look to you. If you can't tell, I, uh, I'm not around kids very often. At all, really."

"It's not too obvious. Well... You're not terrible, at least."

"Thanks."

Tony chuckles once more, beckons Steve to stand. Ben passes the child to his father, pressing a gentle kiss to Peter's forehead, and waves to the trio as they leave. Ten minutes into the drive, Peter is asleep, his hidden-object book on the floorboard. Tony lowers the volume of the radio slightly; his eyes never stray from the road, and Steve wonders if he's going to like what the other man has to say.

" _In the Heat of the Night_? Really?"

Steve laughs nervously. "Yeah, my ma and I used to watch it whenever I was sick as a kid. I didn't think about turning on cartoons for him. As I said, I'm not used to kids, so..."

"Nah, don't worry about it. Unless it's _My Little Pony_ , Disney movies, or _Doc McStuffins_ , he doesn't really care too much. I guess I'm just grateful it wasn't something like _Game of Thrones_."

"I don't even know what that is."

Tony shrugs as he checks on Peter in the rearview mirror. "The books are better. He mentioned an 'emergency'."

"Yeah." Steve sighs. "Like I said, after you left, I kinda hid in my bathroom and called my Ma, 'cause I was freaking out. He musta overheard me. I didn't tell him what the emergency was, since I didn't know, still don't - and that's fine! You don't gotta tell me, so don't feel like ya do. But he asked what an emergency was, so I explained that an emergency is something that needs to be taken care of right away, like a broken leg. He, uh... He asked if you were gonna come back for him, I think he meant coming back for him in a few hours, not in general, and I told him, yeah, 'cause you love him so much. Then we started drawing, he can keep the sketchbook if he wants, I don't need it. I'm just gonna shut up now."

Tony stays silent for a few minutes, and Steve stares out the window. He can't help but wonder if he’d overstepped last night in explaining the definition of an 'emergency'. By the time Tony finally speaks, Steve has resigned himself to getting yelled at.

"Would you be willing and able to watch him this week?"

"Huh?"

"He has to go to pre-k during the day, but that gets out at three, and I have a lot of work that I can't get out of, unfortunately. So... Can you watch him?"

"Uh, sure, I guess."

Tony suddenly pulls onto the shoulder of the road, putting the car in park and turning to look at Steve directly. There's no trace of humour on his face; his expression is serious, solemn, and Steve finds himself missing the other man's smile.

"I need you to listen very carefully, Steve. That little boy is my entire life. I will do anything to protect him and keep him safe, okay? If you don't want to watch him, then be upfront and honest about it. I'm not going to be mad. I just thought I'd ask you because he had such a good time and really enjoyed you watching him last night."

"Um, will I have to pick him up?"

Tony relaxes minutely, though his shoulders don’t completely fall to a natural position. "I'll find someone who can do it."

"Okay. I gotta talk to my boss, rearrange some things, but I can watch him."

"You are a lifesaver."

Monday drags on. The music and humming that usually can be heard under the layers of voices, doesn't sound for most of the day. Steve loses the thread of conversations easily, often saying the same thing once or twice or asking someone to repeat what they've already said. He can't focus on _The Winter Soldier_ quite as well, and even Clint's noticed.

Two o'clock finds him staring at a half-finished page; his pen is poised above the panel, but Steve makes no move to actually put ink to paper. He glances at the clock again, sighs, and lets the pen clatter to his desk. He can feel Pietro's questioning gaze from where the younger man is sitting on top of his own work-table. Everyone has asked Steve if he’s okay multiple times during the day; at lunch, he overheard Kate and Clint talking in the breakroom, wondering amongst themselves if Brock has made a reappearance in Steve’s life. It’s been years, but Steve is still surprised at the lack of post-breakup pain at the mention of his ex-boyfriend.

His phone rings suddenly, startling him. He ignores the fact that his co-workers are now staring at him as he digs his phone out from under a stack of paper.

_Unknown Caller._

“Uh, hello?”

“Oh, you answered, thank fuck. Look, I know I said I’d have something figured out, but the plan fell through so I’m really sorry, but can you please pick him up at three? It’s just for today, and I promise I’ll have another plan figured out by tomorrow.”

“I, um, yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Great. I’ll text you the details. Make sure you have your license ready.”

“No problem.”

But Tony’s already hung up. Steve huffs out a laugh, drops his phone to his desk. It beeps seconds later; the message has only a name and address. He has less than an hour before school lets out. Gathering up the little work he’s done, he tucks the papers into their folder, sliding it into his bag; he shuts down his computer, drapes the bag’s strap over his shoulder, and heads toward the exit. He can already hear the others whispering to each other as he pulls the door closed behind him.

The steady _thump-thump_ of the bass sends vibrations up his spine, and Steve makes a face at the energetic synth that’s blaring from the speakers in the photography wing. He can see Natasha and Sam sitting in comfortable chairs off to the side; neither of them looks up at him, but Steve didn’t really expect them to notice his presence – not with the loud music and the fact that they’re both focused so intently on each other. Coulson stands behind the camera, silently snapping picture after picture as Bucky poses without direction. The effortless movements seem so natural, are a testament to how long he’s worked with Phil that Bucky doesn’t need words to know how the other man wants him to move.

Coulson steps away from the camera just as the song comes to an end. Bucky’s face lights up when he catches sight of Steve standing by the door. He grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge that sits off to the side of the room, makes his way across the large space. Up close, Steve can see the mascara that thickens his best friend’s lashes and the thin line of eyeliner that emphasises his grey-blue eyes. The dimness of the room, apart from the brightly-lit staging area, does nothing to hide the definition of Bucky’s muscular form; his skin glistens faintly as he takes a large drink of his water. When he’s drained half the bottle, he screws the cap back on and smiles brightly.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

“Hey, can I borrow your car?”

Bucky cocks his head, raising a brow. “You leavin’ early?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I got somethin’ to do. So can I have the keys or not?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“I’ll explain later,” Steve promises as he follows Bucky toward the lockers.

“You better, punk. And I better get my car back in one piece.”

Steve slips his index finger through the keyring and groans. “I’m not that bad of a driver.”

“Steve. The last time I let you drive with me in the car was after the surgery to get my arm fixed. By the time we got home, I was willing to give up my other arm if it meant never again being a passenger if you were behind the wheel.”

“You are an asshole, and I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

Bucky laughs, claps Steve on the shoulder, and leads the blond to the door. “Call me later, okay?”

Steve pulls into a stall in a parking garage a block away from the address he was given; after locking the doors, he glances at the GPS map on his phone’s screen and sets off in what he hopes is the right direction.

A small sign taped to the window instructs him to ring the bell. He does, pressing the button then staring awkwardly at the grey metal of the door. The sound of a quiet buzz startles him.

“Main office.”

“Yeah, um, I’m Steve Rogers. I’m here to pick up someone.”

“Okay. Come inside, take a left.”

The lock disengages with a soft _click_ , and he pulls the door open. The wall directly across the entry is plastered with dozens of drawings; he gives them a cursory look before turning toward the office. A slim brunette sits behind the large desk, and Steve feels like he’s getting an X-ray as she looks him over. His smile in response is shaky, but he still steps up to the desk.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up Peter.”

“Child’s last name?”

“Oh, uh, Parker.”

Once he shows his license and writes his name on the sign-out sheet, the woman lifts the phone’s receiver and dials a number. Steve sits in one of the chairs, stares at the navy-blue carpet while he waits.

It isn’t but three minutes later that a shrill shriek of “ _Steve_!” brings his head up. He grins at Peter who’s tugging at the hand of the young woman escorting him down the hall. The child’s book-bag hangs from his thin shoulder by one strap, but it doesn’t seem to be slowing him down. As soon as the pair enter the office, the woman lets go of Peter’s hand, and he rushes toward Steve. Thankfully, Steve opens his arms in time to catch the four-year-old.

“Daddy didn’t tell me you were picking me up!”

“We wanted it to be a surprise, kiddo.”

“I like this surprise! Bye, Miss Wanda! Bye, Miss Hill!”

The woman behind the desk clears her throat. “Before you go, Mr Rogers, Mr Parker told us to give you this.”

She holds out a bright blue booster seat. Steve nods his thanks, takes it from her, and heads toward the door. Peter skips happily beside him; Steve feels a sudden awe at how tiny the kid’s hand is, and he forces himself to ignore the worry that he might accidentally break Peter’s bones. Thankfully, the trek back to the car is uneventful, though it’s long due to Peter stopping to say goodbye to each classmate he sees filing out of the side doors and the short strides he’s capable of.

Peter takes charge once the back door of the car is open. He sets the booster on the seat, shoving it to the middle, and climbs in. Steve doesn’t even have to help him buckle up. The child keeps up a steady stream of chatter as Steve drives toward the apartment, more cautiously than he’s ever driven in his entire life. Peter waits until Steve has opened the back door before moving to unbuckle the belt and stays close to Steve’s side as they walk into the building and up the stairs. Once inside, the child drops his backpack by the door, bends down to undo the velcro straps on his light-up shoes, and leaves them by his bag before crossing the living room to sit at the coffee table. Steve hands him the same sketchpad and coloured pencils from Friday night, stepping back as Peter immediately opens the book to a new page and starts drawing.

A loud buzzing breaks up the silence in the room, and Steve stretches out his back, sighing in relief as the joints pop; he’d forgotten what a pain it is to sit on the floor for so long. Tony’s name is on his phone’s screen when he pulls it from his bag. Quickly glancing at Peter, who’s completely absorbed by his own art, Steve pushes himself to his feet and answers the call after he’s made his way to the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, oh my God, I’m so sorry. I just now got out of the office. I was going to go to the hospital to visit someone, but that can wait until tomorrow. I’m on my way home now.”

“Tony, it’s not that late. You still have time to go.”

“Steve. Steven. It’s almost five-thirty.”

Steve pulls his phone away from his ear to check the time; Tony’s right. “Oh. Well…you can still go. We’ve got this, I promise.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose on you any more than I already have.”

“I’m sure. Anything, in particular, he likes to eat?”

“He’s four, Steve. I’m lucky if he even likes the same colour for more than a day.” Tony sighs, and there’s a short burst of static, like something has bumped against the phone. “Sorry, long day. Honestly, though, you’ll have to ask him.”

“Okay. I can do that. Drive safe, Tony.”

“I will. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

Again, Tony hangs up before Steve can reply. Normally, this would irritate him, but Steve can’t find it in himself to feel insulted – Tony doesn’t seem to mean to be rude, like it’s something that he has done for years and never questioned. Steve slides his phone into his back pocket and heads back into the living room. Peter hasn’t moved or stopped drawing while Steve was away.

“Hey, kiddo, you hungry?”

This catches Peter’s attention; his head snaps up, and his dark eyes widen. “I’m starving,” he announces, dragging out the ‘r’ sound.

“Okay. What would you like to eat? I can make spaghetti or grilled cheese or –”

“Can we have pizza?”

“Uh… Sure, why not. Do you know if you’re allergic to anything?”

Peter shrugs. Steve suppresses a sigh (he really should’ve expected that a four-year-old probably wouldn’t know their dietary restrictions) and sends a text to Tony; the reply text merely has a bee emoji. That’s it, nothing else. Just an emoji. Steve chuckles before grabbing a delivery menu and moving to sit beside Peter.

The pizza is delivered within forty-five minutes. By this time, Peter has eaten a banana, a granola bar, tin of yoghurt, and a piece of bread. Steve isn’t sure how many slices of pizza to give the kid, but Peter takes the decision out of his hands by grabbing one of the smaller triangles. They eat quietly together, and Steve tries to ignore witnessing Peter peeling chopped bacon off his slice.

“Tonight’s bath night.”

Steve finishes putting the leftover pizza in the refrigerator before turning to face the tiny child. “Uh, it is?”

“Yup. Daddy says pipsk’eeks gotta be clean, so tonight is bath night.”

“And it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“No. I want a bath.”

Peter plants his fists on his hips and stares up at Steve with a defiant expression on his face. Steve’s brain races, tries to come up with a way to peacefully break this standoff, but he doesn’t know how to refuse again without potentially causing a meltdown. He also doesn’t know the proper way to bathe a child, but that evidently matters not – he supposes he has no choice but to learn. Thankfully, he knows someone who can help.

“Ma, how do you give a child a bath?”

There’s a long pause during which Steve is worried his ma might be laughing at him. His worries are proven to be completely valid when she finally speaks, stifled giggles evident in her voice.

“You mean to tell me that with the Barnes family having lived with us for an entire year, you never learned to give a child a bath? Steve, darling boy, it’s just like bathing yourself.”

“I haven’t taken a bath since I was seven, Ma,” he responds petulantly, still being stared down by the four-year-old. “I don’t know if there’s some special rule.”

“There’s no ‘special rule’. Just make sure the water’s not too hot – kids have more sensitive skin. Test the temperature with your wrist. Regular shampoo is fine for this one time, but if he’s going to be there a lot, ask his father for his own shampoo and body wash. Oh, and make sure you stay with him. You don’t want him to drown.”

Steve groans. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“Stevie, relax. You got this. You can do this. I promise. Call me back if you need to, okay? I gotta go, I’m still at work. I love you.”

“Yeah, love you, too, Ma.”

Steve hangs up and closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. His ma is right: He can do this. It sounds simple enough. He squares his shoulders and gazes down at Peter, whose expression has slowly gotten more hopeful. With a sigh, Steve beckons for the child to follow him. He double– and triple-checks the water’s temperature as it gushes from the tap; he plugs the tub up and waits, twisting the knobs once the basin is halfway full of lukewarm water.

Peter is already completely naked by the time Steve turns around. Steve hesitates but ultimately merely steps aside for the kid to clamber into the tub. Peter immediately drops to sit on his knees, hands wiggling under the water. Steve decides to let him play a bit since he seems to be having fun, and all that he’s heard about kids is they either hate being in the water and scream the entire time, or they absolutely love being in the water and scream when it’s time to get out. After a few minutes, he grabs the cup from the counter and sits on the edge of the tub.

“Okay, Peter, you ready?”

Thankfully, the child keeps his head tilted back as Steve massages shampoo into his hair then rinses it out; Steve makes sure to keep one hand cupped around the top of Peter’s forehead to prevent soapy water from dripping into his eyes. Peter tugs the washcloth from Steve’s hand once it’s coated in body wash, claiming he can scrub himself. To Steve’s complete surprise, the kid isn’t lying: Hhe can even reach the middle of his back with just a little bit of contorting. Even more unexpected is the fact that Peter is ready to get out of the bath as soon as he’s rinsed off. Steve helps him towel-dry then goes in search of _anything_ that might fight even slightly, since the child’s only clothes are currently lying, dirty, on the bathroom floor. He manages to find a T-shirt from before the growth spurt that brought him a foot taller and allowed him to gain almost eighty pounds. The shirt still dwarfs Peter when Steve pulls it over his head, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind at all; he just grips the bottom hem in his small hands and holds it out of the way so he doesn’t trip as he makes his way down the hall to the living room. Steve hurriedly cleans up the mess in the bathroom, folds Peter’s dirty clothes, and unplugs the tub. The water starts draining with a loud gurgle, and Steve turns off the light and follows after the boy.

“I see you have Piggly.”

Peter beams happily from where he’s stretched out on the couch. Indeed, the neon-orange stuffed pig is tucked close to his chest. “I take him everywhere with me, even to school, even though some kids tell me only babies have stuffies.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Steve says, not able to bear the sudden sadness on Peter’s face at the mention of the other kids’ words.

“Really?”

Steve heads to his bedroom without another word. It takes less than thirty seconds to find and grab what he’s looking for. Back out in the living room, he crouches down next to the crouch and holds out the navy blue stuffed dog, ratty with age and decades of love. Peter’s eyes light up, and he runs a finger delicately over the line of stitches where the dog’s ear used to be.

“This is Blue. I’ve had him since I was about your age. My ma gave him to me, and I’ve loved him this whole time. So, yes, really. Stuffies aren’t just for babies.”

Peter smiles brightly and continues petting Blue. The obvious adoration in his eyes makes Steve’s next decision an easy one. He tucks Blue in next to Piggly and grins at the young child.

“But I think it’s time Blue went to someone else, a little boy who can love him and cuddle with him and give him a really great home. Think you can do that, Peter?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, oh, thank you, thank you!”

“Then it’s settled. Blue, you behave for Peter, okay?”

Peter picks the dog up and speaks for it, his voice squeaky, “Okay, Steve. Thank you for giving me to Peter. I’ll protect him and make sure he has _no_ nightmares!”

Steve is still smiling as he scrolls through his available television channels for kid-appropriate shows. Peter perks up at the sight of a cartoon family and their robot ostrich aboard a spaceship, so Steve leaves it, turning the volume down a bit so it’s not loud enough to keep Peter awake too long. He tries to work on his comic, he really does, but he soon finds himself enthralled by the show as the Callisto family travels through space and goes on missions. And although Peter is asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around his stuffed animals by the end of the first episode, Steve keeps the show going, watching every second.

A light tapping on the door draws Steve away from the cartoon and the (admittedly little) progress he’s made to his comic. He checks the time on his phone – 9:05 pm – before heaving himself to his feet and crossing the room. An exhausted-looking Tony stands on the other side of the door when Steve pulls it open. Peter’s father manages to smile a greeting, but it only serves to accentuate the dark circles under his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Hey. He’s asleep, so if you wanna grab his stuff, I can carry him over for you.”

“You’re a godsend.”

Steve laughs quietly. “So you’ve said. Oh, don’t forget his clothes on the bathroom counter.”

“He demanded a bath, didn’t he?” asks Tony after a short pause, but he makes his way down the hall anyway; Steve goes with him so he can answer Tony’s question without yelling.

“Yeah. There was even a standoff and everything.”

“So naturally you caved.”

“He’s pretty stubborn, and terrifying, for a four-year-old.”

“Yeah, he gets that from his mother.” Tony’s smile is both prideful and tinged with sadness at once, but he continues speaking before Steve can ask any questions. “So how much?”

“How...much?”

Tony gives him a look that says, clearly, that he thinks Steve is being intentionally obtuse. “Compensation, Steven. You’ve been taking care of my kid, even picked him up from school after I promised you wouldn’t have to. Again, how much?”

“Nothing. What was I gonna do, leave Peter without someone to watch over him? It’s not a problem, I promise.”

Without waiting for a reply, Steve turns and heads back down the hall. Peter instinctively curls into his chest once Steve has him cradled in his arms; Tony makes a weird little noise in the back of his throat, and Steve tears his gaze away from the sleeping child’s face to raise an eyebrow at the other man. Though his cheeks are tinged pink, Tony doesn’t say anything, just easily scoops up his son’s backpack and shoes, and exits the apartment. Steve follows closely behind, holding Peter just a little tighter so the overhead light in the hall doesn’t shine directly in his face. He places Peter in his bed a moment later, just like he did on Friday night, and lets Tony finish the routine. He leaves the Parkers’ apartment without saying goodnight.

“Am I calling at a bad time?” he asks a few minutes later, and Bucky’s breathless chuckle answers down the line.

“Sort of, but that’s okay. What’s up, Stevie?”

Steve grimaces as a particularly loud moan comes through his phone’s earpiece loud and clear. “I was just calling to explain like I said I would, but you sound...busy.”

“Eh, kinda. Wanna just talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that – that’ll be fine.”

“Okay, see ya.”

Steve hangs up but not before hearing the tell-tale sound of skin slapping skin – hard – and a husky voice crying out at the impact. With a full-body shudder, Steve plugs his phone on the charger and shuffles down the hall to the bathroom for a quick shower. He dries off swiftly and dresses in a pair of boxers and sweats. It’s too quiet in his room once he stretches out on his mattress, so he reaches for the clock-radio on his bedside table and scrolls through the stations in search of anything besides commercials or talk shows. Sighing in frustration at his lack of success, he pushes the switch to the off position, rolls onto his back, and resigns himself to a night of incredibly terrible sleep.

Steve lays in bed for a bit after his alarm goes off. He’d only fallen asleep a little past three, and he’s still so tired after just barely two and a half hours of sleep. He’s in the middle of debating whether he should go into the office or just work from home, when he hears his front door opening. He decides not to ignore his visitor, clambers out of bed slowly.

Bucky is rooting through the cabinets when Steve enters the kitchen. A crisp white envelope sits in the middle of the table, Steve’s name written in an unfamiliar scrawl; it’s thick, full, and Steve has a good idea that he knows who it’s from and what’s in it.

“Where’d you get this?” he questions anyway, pretending like he’s not already getting frustrated.

Bucky barely glances at him as he pulls a box of honey-nut Cheerios from the cupboard. “No idea. It was shoved under the door.”

“That dick,” hisses Steve once he’s opened the envelope.

Inside are ten fifty-dollar bills and five hundreds. Steve marches toward the door, ignoring his best friend calling after him, and cross the halls. Tony answers Steve’s knocks almost immediately; Steve is momentarily stunned by the other man’s appearance, which is much less put-together than any other time they’ve crossed paths: Tony’s tie is draped around his neck, unknotted, and half of the front of his shirt is untucked from his slacks. Even his hair isn’t as neatly styled as usual. Steve quickly gets his focus back, pushing the envelope against Tony’s chest.

“This is too much, especially since I said no money.”

Tony stares down at Steve’s hand but makes no move to take the cash. He blinks owlishly up at Steve. “I’m really not seeing the problem here, Steven.”

“We came to an agreement last night –”

“No, we didn’t. _You_ said no. I never agreed.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Why are you being so difficult? It’s just money.”

“Because I don’t like being ignored!”

“You’ve been babysitting my kid with no complaints, which is really fucking surprising considering before a few days ago, you had no idea who he or I were! Am I not supposed to compensate you for that?”

“Not with a fuckin’ grand, and not after I’ve already said no!”

“ _Stop_ , please!”

Both Tony and Steve fall silent at the tearful shriek coming from deeper inside Tony’s apartment. Peter stands at the edge of the hallway in just his underwear; his face is red, eyes shining brightly in the glare from the lamps around the living room. Belatedly, awkwardly, Steve lets the hand still holding the money to Tony’s chest, fall to his side.

“Stop fighting. I don’t want my daddy and my fav’rite babysitter to fight. This is all my fault.”

“No, no, Peter. C’mere, baby.” Tony is by Peter’s side almost instantly, expertly dodging the random toys littering the floor, and he gently picks his son up and holds him tightly. “Why would you think this is your fault?”

“Because,” the child sobs into his father’s neck, “I shouldn’t’a told you about the pizza, and you wouldn’t be fighting with Steve!”

Tony closes his eyes, his face twisting into a pained expression. When he turns to fully face Steve, it’s to glare at the blond and mouth “Get out.” Steve does so, gladly, but he makes sure to drop the money onto the table by the door first. It takes a lot of willpower to not slam the door on his way out, but he manages it; he doesn’t want to upset Peter any further. Bucky is leaning against the fridge by the time Steve gets back to his own apartment.

“So… What the hell was that?”

Steve sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face. “My neighbour. Before Friday, all I’d ever see of him was him coming home late every night or when he was dumping trash into his recycle bin, which was always full of empty liquor bottles. Hell, we never talked until Friday, when he just showed up, told me to watch his kid and not kill him, and left. What kind of idiot trusts a complete stranger to watch his four-year-old?”

“Do the bottles show up when he’s got his kid?”

“What?” Steve scoffs. “How the hell would I know that, Buck?”

“Seems to me like you’ve been payin’ attention, ‘s’all. Anway, why exactly did you not take his money? I mean, it’s what you do when you provide a service – you get paid. That’s kinda the whole point.”

“I don’t know. I feel bad. The only reason he asked me, of all people, is because he was in a rush because of some emergency. Besides, it’s not like Peter’s a bad kid. It’s like being paid for doing basically nothing. And I told him not to pay me. So he shouldn’t have tried.”

Bucky stares at Steve as if his best friend has suddenly grown three extra heads. Finally, he mutters, “Yeah, whatever. Go get ready for work.”

Steve is still so angry as he pulls on his shoes that all he wants to do is continue the argument with Tony. He refrains, however; his ma and Bucky have always told him he just doesn’t know when to quit, and the last thing he wants is to prove them right. Unfortunately, Tony seems to have no such qualms, because his door flings open just as Steve is starting down the stairs, and he calls out Steve’s name. Steve slows but doesn’t stop walking.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about watching Peter any more. I’ll find someone else.”

Steve’s heart sinks; he has to swallow a couple of times before he manages to shout back, “Fine!”

The door slams, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet space, and Steve takes the last few flights down at a near run. Bucky is silent as he drives them to SHIELD. He flashes Steve a sympathetic smile when they arrive and part to go to their separate workspaces.

Steve spends the next couple of hours working in a fury-fuelled frenzy. He's aware that a lot of his anger is irrational – any normal, sane person would expect to be paid for watching someone else's kid, just like any normal, sane person would expect to have to pay someone for watching their kid – but he can't figure out how to let it go. He ignores everyone around, even when they come up to his desk, and even Natasha slapping him on the back of the head doesn't force him out of his own thoughts.

Steve damn near throws his phone at the wall when it beeps at 10:20 and Tony's name appears on the screen. Without his permission, his thumb swipes to unlock the device, and the message thread opens.

_Lunch? 12:30?_

The address listed is only a few blocks away from SHIELD. He idly wonders if Tony knows where he works before he dismisses that thought. Steve's never mentioned his job around Tony, so, unless Tony's done a background check on him, the location for lunch has to just be a coincidence. He taps his pen against his sketchpad as he thinks. Going to lunch with Tony would mean a chance to talk without the risk of someone shouting and making a scene, but it also means having to see the object of his anger in close quarters.

Noon finds Steve walking out the door of SHIELD, pacing the parking lot two, three, four times before he makes up his mind. He's grateful that it isn't too hot outside as he makes his way down the sidewalk; he doesn't want to arrive sweaty, red-faced, and stinking.

The secluded diner is tucked nearly in between an office building and a craft store, its sign plainly stating the name – black serif font against a wash of white. The door is situated in the middle of two large windows; the bright red sign hanging from the glass cheerily announces the establishment is open. A bell dings as Steve steps inside, and a waitress at the counter smiles. He forces a grin in response before turning his focus on finding Tony. There are only two people sitting in the dining area, neither of whom is the man he's looking for. With a check of the time (12:19), Steve weaves his way through the tables toward a booth in the back and settles in to wait, pulling out the sketches of his newest comic character to work on.

“Hey, that's pretty good.”

Steve glances up from where he's adding lines of facial hair to the drawing, smiling at Tony. “Thanks.”

“You do this for a living?” asks the other man as he sits on the bench across the table.

“Uh, yeah, actually. I write comics.” Steve puts his sketches back in his bag and meets Tony’s gaze head-on. “So…”

“So.”

Both men fall silent, and Steve’s skin starts feeling a little tighter. As surreptitiously as he can, he wipes his suddenly-clammy palms on his jeans under the table. All he wants to do right now is get up, walk out of this diner, and go back to bed. The waitress comes by at that moment, so Steve orders a water, more to have something to do with his hands and less with being thirsty. Tony asks for a burger (“Greasiest one you’ve got”) and coffee. Once she’s gone, Tony folds his hands on the table in front of him and sighs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think me offering money would cause such a fuss. I just… Steve, you have to realise that I didn’t mean to offend or upset you. It was literally just to pay you back for babysitting a kid you don’t know. I mean, I know you’ve seen him around my apartment a few times, but you’d never actually met him before I just dropped him off at your door. And I never would’ve done that if it hadn’t been an absolute emergency.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Tony, look at me. I’ve seen you with him. You care more for Peter than you do for yourself.”

“Yeah? How do you figure that, since you have me so figured out?”

Steve hates the sardonic edge to Tony’s voice, the hardened expression on his face, but he answers as honestly as he can, “Because when Peter’s with you, your recycle bin is full of paper, not liquor bottles. Because he’s such an amazing, confident kid, and that only happens when he has encouraging, caring, attentive parents. You _threatened_ to _kill_ me if something happened to Peter, and while I’m sure most moms and dads make the same threat, you’re the first I’ve ever met who I’ve never doubted would actually follow through. It’s obvious how much you love him, Tony, and how great of a father you really are.”

“You notice my recycle bin?”

“ _That’s_ what you got out of everything I’ve said?”

Tony grins shamelessly as the waitress sets their drinks on the table before walking away. “Yep. What else have you noticed?”

“I’ve noticed you’re a workaholic, judging by the fact you usually leave before the sun’s even fully up and you rarely get home before eight at night, unless you have Peter. Then your days are significantly shorter, and I’m talking maybe five-hours-long shorter. You don’t offer a whole of information about yourself, and I have a feeling it’s always been that way. You’re snarky, you’re confident, but that’s really just a mask, isn’t it?” Tony doesn’t respond to Steve’s question, not that Steve actually expected one, so he continues, “You seemed very concerned with what Ben thought of how Peter was doing when we went to breakfast at _May’s_ , so obviously, family is important to you, but you didn’t seem to give a damn about what I thought, so I’m going to assume you couldn’t care less what strangers think of your parenting skills. Or you as a person.” Steve shrugs. “This is all speculation and assumption, obviously.”

Tony is quiet for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he studies Steve closely; finally, he nods, one succinct dip of his chin. “Not bad, Steven. But yeah, this morning was a mess, and I feel really bad about everything. Peter was panicking, I was trying not to yell at him because I was pissed at you, it was… Quite frankly, it was an experience I’d rather not ever repeat, thank you. He, uh, he really likes you watching him.”

“Why? I’ve only watched him _twice_. How can he already be so attached?”

“He’s a kid,” replies Tony with a shrug. “I don’t really trust his judgment with a lot of things, but he’s rarely wrong when it comes to people. He’s better than me at that. But anyway. It took me promising him that I’d apologise and ask you politely to please resume babysitting him, for him to calm down and get ready for school, so here I am apologising.”

“I guess I should say I’m sorry, too.”

“Maybe. I mean, only if you want to, I’m not gonna say no to getting an apology from you, so go right ahead if that’s what your heart desires.”

Steve chuckles quietly, stabs at a half-melted ice cube in his glass of water with his straw. “I am sorry. I knew it was an overreaction when it was happening, but, as anyone can tell you, I’m a stubborn asshole who rarely admits he’s wrong.”

“Well, look at that. For a stubborn asshole, you’re doing an okay job of apologising. If you wanna go ahead and grovel at my feet – don’t look at me like that – did you _really_ just throw a straw wrapper at me? Wow, you _are_ an asshole!”

Thankfully, Tony is laughing even as he reaches for a napkin from the dispenser at the end of the table. Steve swiftly pushes it further away from Tony’s grasping fingers. They calm a bit after a few minutes, and that’s only because the waitress is back with Tony’s plate in hand, and Steve watches the other diners as Tony takes a bite of his burger. There’s the low hum of appliances, the hiss of the percolator on the counter, the buzz of soft conversation, and it’s relaxing. When Tony sets his burger back on his plate, he swallows and sighs heavily.

“I was supposed to drop him off with his mom. That Friday night. I – we had it planned that I’d take him home once we were done with dinner. But she was coming to get him anyway, because, well, she knows me. She knows I’m fucking terrible at remembering deadlines and important times. Hell, I can barely remember my own social security number ninety percent of the time, all I know is one of the digits is, like, five?, maybe?, so she’s not wrong. Anyway, she was coming to get the pipsqueak, and there was an accident. Some asshole ran a red light, slammed into the side of her car. She and her driver are fine, well, Happy more so than Pepper, but they’re both going to pull through. She had some complications during surgery, so she has to stay in the hospital for a bit longer. But, yeah, it’s a clusterfuck and it’s not your responsibility to make sure that Peter’s looked after, but here you are, watching him like – not a pro, but not quite an amateur, either – and he enjoys being around you, which is why I was trying to pay you. I… I really didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You tried paying me a thousand dollars for two nights. That’s, that’s too much, Tony. I’ll accept payment, I guess, but not a grand.”

“Yeah? What do you think is a fair price?”

Steve shrugs. “I really, honestly don’t know. Five bucks?”

“Five… bucks…?” Tony repeats in a disbelieving tone, blinking slowly, as if he isn’t sure he’s heard Steve correctly.

“Yeah, five dollars. I mean, it’s not that difficult, and it’s not like I’m actually doing any travelling, ya know? You live right across the hall, so…”

“You are going to be the death of me, I swear to God, Steven.”

Steve laughs and stands. “I hate to run, but I gotta get back to work. Am I picking Peter up?”

“Uh, no, no, I have something figured out. And I promise it won’t fall through this time. Scout’s honour.”

“Were you ever even a Boy Scout?”

Tony pauses before admitting, “No.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll do my best to get home before he’s out of school.”

“Oh, Steve, wait.” Tony fumbles in his pocket, pulling out a small brass key. “So you can get him to bed instead of him sleeping on your couch.”

Steve nods, adds the key to his keyring, and drops a ten on the table, waving at Tony before heading out of the diner.

 

 

Over the next two weeks, Peter becomes a regular fixture in Steve's apartment. Steve finds his shelves filling quickly with kids’ movies and books, his TV consistently set to cartoons (he learned quickly which channels play Peter's favourite shows), and his cupboards and fridge stocked with healthy snacks and drinks. It doesn't feel as weird as he expected it to. There are still a few nights that Peter falls asleep on the couch, but Steve has gotten better at making sure the kid is in his own bed before it happens most of the time. The first night he'd tucked Peter into bed, the child had stared up at him expectantly, leaving Steve floundering to figure out what he wanted.

“Daddy uzshally sings me a lul’by.”

“A lullaby?” At Peter's nod, Steve swallowed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay, a lullaby. I can do this. What does he usually sing?”

“The sunshine song.”

Steve cleared his throat and started singing softly, the words half-forgotten and the tune stuttering with unfamiliarity, but Peter didn't protest. He just blinked sleepily up at Steve; his eyes finally closed for good during the second (smoother) run-through of the song. Steve waited with bated breath and only moved when Peter stayed asleep in the silence. Then he'd gone to the living room and sagged into the plush couch, closing his eyes for just a moment. When he'd opened them again, it was to Tony standing over him, a soft smile curling his lips, and he'd started to apologise, but Tony waved him off.

Thing change even more a couple of weeks after that conversation in the diner. It’s just after ten a.m., and Steve is engrossed in the art for his newest comic _Iron Man_ , not paying attention to the others, when his phone starts vibrating on his desk. He doesn't spare a glance at the screen – it's probably just Bucky or his ma.

“This is Steve.”

“Hi, Mister Rogers? This is Sharon Carter. I'm the nurse here at Walker Elementary –”

“Oh, my god, is Peter okay?”

Steve sees Clint and Kate's heads pop up, their faces turning in his direction, but he's focused solely on the way Sharon's not speaking, the silence dragging on a beat too long.

“Well, he's why I'm calling. He was fine then started complaining of his stomach hurting. He threw up during snack time, and he's now running a low-grade fever. I've tried contacting his parents, but neither are answering, and Mister Parker has you listed as an emergency contact. So is there any way you can come pick him up?”

“I'm on my way.”

“Thank you. Miss Hill will direct you to my office.”

Steve hangs up, standing and shoving his phone in his pocket. He doesn't bother asking Bucky for permission for his car; he ducks into the photography section, makes his way to the lockers, and quickly inputs Bucky's combination (seriously, an amalgamation of Nat, Clint, Sam, and Bucky's birthdays is not a secure combination). He swipes the keys off the top shelf and leaves the room before he's found out.

“ _Steve_!”

Peter launches himself at Steve, burying his tear-streaked face into Steve's belly, and Steve rests a hand on the child's sweaty curls. Peter's shoulders are shaking slightly; Steve lowers down a bit until he's looking directly into Peter's eyes. He brushes a hand against the kid’s cheek, wincing at how warm and splotchy his skin is.

“Not feelin’ well, are ya, buddy?” At Peter's head-shake, Steve pulls him in for a hug that no longer feels as awkward as it had the first time he'd held the child after a meltdown. “I'm sorry to hear that. Let me get you signed out, and we'll go home, okay?”

“'Kay.”

Steve steps back but keeps his hand on Peter's shoulder and meets the nurse’s eye. She gives him a gentle smile and holds out a plastic bag; he takes it with a raised brow.

“Petey here got a little throw-up on himself earlier, so we changed his clothes. He's kept down a little bit of water, which is good. He should be able to take another sip by the time he gets home. If you go to the main office, you can sign him out there.” She kneels down to be on Peter's level. “Hope you feel better, kiddo. Remember, plenty of rest and cuddles with Piggly will help you, okay?”

Peter nods, leaning heavily against Steve's thigh. Now that he's really looking, he can see that Peter isn't in the shirt he was wearing this morning, and the poor kid looks exhausted. His face is still pale except for the bright red splotches on his cheeks, and his lashes rest against dark purple half-moons under his eyes. Steve doesn't hesitate, just stretches out his arms and hefts Peter up so he can curl into his chest. Peter lets out a soft sigh, rests his head under Steve's chin. Steve smiles politely, says goodbye, and heads back to the main office. After writing down Peter's name, the reason why Peter is leaving, and signing his own name, Steve tucks the child closer and makes his way out of the building.

Steve carefully lays a sleeping Peter on the couch and walks quietly into the kitchen for a kid-sized cup of water; once that's done, he detours to the small backpack on the floor by the door, grabbing the orange, stuffed pig from its depths. He sets the cup on the coffee table and tucks Piggly under Peter's arm. He waits a moment, debating, then decides he needs to get medicine into Peter to lower his fever. He keeps his door and Tony's open as he hurriedly searches for a thermometer and children's ibuprofen in the drawers. Medication and thermometer in hand, he rushes back to his own apartment, taking a second to make sure Tony's apartment is locked up again.

Peter makes a face but silently swallows the cherry-flavoured syrup when Steve wakes him up ten minutes later. He swallows down a small mouthful of water, immediately plopping back down on the couch. Steve brushes a hand over his hair, reaches for the remote. The theme song for _My Little Pony_ plays after a couple minutes of scrolling through the channels. Peter doesn't even perk up like he normally does when he sees Twilight Sparkle on the screen. Steve stays quiet, even after the child falls asleep shortly after the show starts.

_Hey, asshole, where's my damn car???_

Steve snorts at Bucky's text, typing back _Needed it. You'll get it back tomorrow, promise._

 **From: Bucky (12:01)** _In one piece?_

 **To: Bucky (12:02)** _When have I ever returned something of yours in more than one piece?_

 **From: Bucky (12:04)** _Let's see…my phone when we were 15…you when we were 10, 12, 13, 14, 16, and 19…need I go on?_

 **To: Bucky (12:04)** _No, no need. Sorry, I shoulda asked but it couldn't wait._

 **From: Bucky (12:05)** _Explain tomorrow._

Steve sends back a thumbs up emoji and settles into the couch cushion to wait for Peter to wake up. When he does, his skin is cooler to the touch, and he doesn't look so miserable. Steve makes him a piece of dry toast and bowl of chicken broth. Peter only manages two bites of toast and half the broth, but Steve counts it as a win and lets the kid fall back asleep.

A knock startles Steve around six o'clock, and he checks that Peter is still resting before he crosses the living room and peeks through the peephole. An unfamiliar man stands on the other side of the door. Steve hesitates before opening the door a crack, using his body as a barricade.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah. I'm here for Peter.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm here to pick up Peter.”

“Sorry, sir, but that's not happening. I don't know you, and I wasn't told about anyone coming to get him, so no, he won't be going with you. If that's all, have a good night.”

Steve shuts the door in the man's face and slams the chain-lock into place. His phone is still lying on the arm of the couch where he left it; he scoops it up, unlocks it, and finds Tony's number, hitting the call button with more force than necessary, but Tony needs to know someone is trying to take his son so Steve can't spare a concern about the welfare of his phone's screen.

“You know what to do.”

“Damn,” he swears as he ends the call, only to call back.

“You know what to do.”

“You know what to do.”

Twelve more times Steve tries to get a hold of Tony, but each time it goes to voicemail. He's just ended the fifteenth attempt when his phone buzzes loudly, Tony's name on the screen.

“Tony, thank –”

“Steve? Sorry, I couldn't answer. Is everything okay? Is Peter all right? What's wrong with him?”

“No– nothing is wrong with him, he's fine. He's asleep right now, well, he’s sick, but I promise he's fine.”

“So why the dozen and a half calls?”

“There's, there's someone here, outside my door, saying he's here for Peter, and you didn't tell me there was gonna be someone, and I'm not letting him have Peter, I swear it, but the man – he's still out there,” he whispers as he looks through the peephole again; the man is looking severely unimpressed with the fact that Steve shut the door in his face. “What do I do? Tony?”

But Tony's hung up already. Steve stares down at the screen, confusion and panic sending his pulse thrumming hard through his veins. Steve continues staring through the peephole, watches as the man digs in an inner pocket of his suit jacket. _Oh, god, he has a gun, okay, Peter's small enough, he can fit under my bed, no, that's the first place a kidnapper looks, fine, under the bathroom sink, it'll be uncomfortable, but he'll be safe there, hopefully I can disarm this guy first before he can find Peter._ The man finally gets hold of whatever he's looking for and pulls out...a cell phone. Shame wars with the fear Steve's feeling, even as the man says a greeting to whoever's calling him. Steve jumps when the man raps on the door again, waves his phone in the air in front of the peephole.

“It's for you.”

His fingers shaking, Steve slides the lock out of its place, pulls the door open slowly, and hesitatingly glances at the device. Tony's face is on the screen, tired and pinched with tension, but his eyes hold a glimmer of humour.

“Heya, Steve. This is Happy. He’s a good guy, swear. Not a kidnapper. He's gonna take Peter home to his mom.”

“Oh. Okay. I'm so sorry,” he says to Happy, his cheeks suddenly hot. “I just… Oh, god, I'm so, so, so sorry.”

Happy merely nods in response. Tony grins then disappears, Happy's phone screen going dark. Steve turns, shuffling back into his apartment. He feels so foolish now, but he refuses to dwell on it – he just gathers up Peter's backpack and crosses to the couch, drops to his knees to gently lift the child into his arms. Peter startles, whimpering softly, his body twitching, and his eyes open just enough to look up at Steve.

“Sorry, Petey-bug, it's okay, go back to sleep. You're safe.” He glances over his shoulder at Happy whose expression goes from appraising to blank the instant he notices Steve’s attention. “Want me to just carry him to your car?”

“That's fine.”

Steve follows Happy down the stairs, out the front door, and to a black sedan halfway down the block. Happy holds the door open while Steve ducks down to maneuver Peter into his booster seat. Peter whines a bit, but Steve runs his fingers through the dark curls, sticky and wild with sweat, and softly hushes him. Once Peter is buckled in and clinging tightly to Piggly, Steve hesitates but then presses a tender kiss to his forehead.

“Feel better, little man, okay?”

Happy closes the door quietly after Steve backs away. Steve shifts his weight between his feet, awkward all of a sudden, then steps back further. Happy rounds the car, stops by the driver's side door, and stares at Steve with an unreadable expression, before nodding once succinctly. He slides into the seat and starts up the car, driving away almost immediately. Steve sighs and makes his way back to his apartment.

The notification light on his phone is blinking by the time he gets back inside. He unlocks the device to see Tony's texted him.

 **From: Tony (18:32)** _Don't worry, Happy's absolutely impressed with how protective and vigilant you were with Peter. He just doesn't like showing affection around strangers._  
**From: Tony (18:32)** _But seriously, thank you._  
From: Tony (18:33) I can't tell you how relieved I am that you made my son's well-being such a high priority  
**From: Tony (18:34)** _I've had to fire too many babysitters for not being careful enough with Peter, so it's a very refreshing change that you were so adamant about not letting him go with what you thought was a complete stranger._  
**From: Tony (18:34)** _Thank you._

 **To: Tony (18:41)** _I feel like an idiot. But it's not a problem. Peter's important to you, and he's become important to me. I'm gonna protect him as much as I can when he's in my care._

 **From: Tony (18:44)** _How are you even real_  
**From: Tony (18:44)** _Don't answer that I'm being dumb_  
**From: Tony (18:44)** _I take it they've left?_

 **To: Tony (18:44)** _Yeah._  
**To: Tony (18:45)** _Oh, before I forget. He had a dose of ibuprofen around 3 so he might need more soon. He kept down some water, toast, and chicken broth but he didn't eat much_

 **From: Tony (18:45)** _K thanks I'll let Pepper know_  
**From: Tony (18:45)** _Thanks Steve_

 **To: Tony (18:46)** _You're welcome, Tony_

Steve falls asleep to the sound of Applejack working herself to the bone to harvest the orchard.

Bucky is already in the office when Steve arrives the next morning. Steve tosses him his keys and beelines for the coffeemaker. He'd fallen asleep around eight, but he tossed and turned all night, waking up at the slightest of sound in the apartment, each time panicking because he could no longer see or hear Peter. It took almost half an hour each time to remind himself that Peter is now with his mother. He'd finally slipped into deep sleep just as the sun was peeking over the horizon; he hadn't even done his morning routine, instead staying in bed until the last possible minute.

“Rough night?”

Steve sighs and stares at the slowly-filling coffeepot. “Yeah. Just… Not enough sleep.”

“What's up, Stevie?”

“Babysitting the kid again. His school called me 'cause he was sick, which is why I stole your car yesterday, and then a family friend picked him up around six-thirty or so, but I kept wakin’ up last night, thinkin’ he was still there and freakin’ out 'cause I couldn't hear him.”

“Rough.”

“Yeah. It's dumb. Not even my kid, and I was so worried about him.”

“You're attached. 'S’not a bad thing, not at all, so don't look at me like that. It's just the truth, is all. From what I hear, he's a good kid, of course you're attached.”

“It's dumb,” repeats Steve as he pours a cup of coffee. “Sorry I stole your car.”

“Not a problem, hitched a ride with Sam and Nat,” Bucky replies with an easy shrug. “Why don't you go back home, get more sleep? Because you look like dried shit on toast.”

“Classy,” Natasha calls from the doorway. “Barnes, Phil needs you yesterday, there was a problem with the shoot from the other day.”

“Gottit. Seriously, Stevie, go get some more sleep.”

“I'm fine, stop worrying about me.”

“Always gonna, Mister 'I punch people three times my size because I'm an idiot with no self-preservation’.”

Bucky claps a hand to Steve's shoulder and ambles out of the comic section, darting forward to kiss Clint's cheek as they pass each other. A low, long whistle pierces the air, and Steve pivots to see Kate nearing.

“You look like shit, Steve.”

“Gee, thanks, not like hearin’ it from Bucky wasn't enough.”

She holds her hands up in surrender and turns on her heel to go to her desk. Steve catches sight of her signing something to Clint; the man sprints toward the coffeemaker, nabs the carafe, and bolts back across the room to deposit it onto Kate’s desk, hissing all the way as drops of hot coffee splash across his hands whenever the pot is jolted. She gives him an unimpressed look but accepts his gift. Steve can’t stop the chuckle that escapes at the pair. Thor, visiting for a bit, laughs at their antics.

He’s just gotten to his area when his phone dings in his pocket. He fishes it out as he sets his mug on the surface of his desk.

 **From: Tony (08:14)** _Pepper says to thank you for taking such good care of Peter while she’s healed up_

 **To: Tony (08:15)** _It wasn’t a problem. He’s really a great kid._

 **From: Tony (08:15)** _Yeah he really is. The best. No kid is as amazing and wonderful as he is. He's the BEST, STEVEN_

 **To: Tony (08:16)** _Most parents think that about their children_  
**To: Tony (08:16)** _But I think you might be right :p_

 **From: Tony (08:16)** _Of course I am. I'm a genius. I'm always right._  
**From: Tony (08:17)** _This meeting is dragging on forever. I don't want to be here._  
**From: Tony (08:17)** _What are you doing?_

 **To: Tony (08:18)** _About to actually do some work._  
**To: Tony (08:18)** _Like you should be doing_  
**To: Tony (08:18)** _Get to work, mister_

 **From: Tony (08:19)** _You're no fun_

Steve chuckles and waits, but no further messages come through. So he sets his phone on the side of his desk, sits down in the chair, and pulls out the panels for _Iron Man_. He knows he should be working on the last couple of pages for _The Winter Soldier_ , since it's due to go to the printers in three days, but he hasn't had much luck concentrating on that comic. He has had idea after idea for the man in the metal armour and whatever adventures he should go on, so he's been able to produce much more content for it. It still isn't ready for publication, however, but he doesn't mind. He also doesn't mind that the inspiration for Iron Man’s appearance outside of his suit came from his neighbour's strikingly good looks.

“He's over there, the big dumb blond ー no, not that big dumb blond, the _other_ big dumb blond.”

Steve glances up from his work to see a delivery man about a foot away from Thor, a box in hand. He makes his way through the desks, coming to a stop at Steve's side.

“Steve Rogers? Got a delivery for ya.”

“I, uh, I didn't order anything.”

“It's a gift then. I dunno, man, I just do what I'm told, and I was told to deliver this to you.”

“Can I ask who it's from?”

“Sorry, dude.”

“Right.”

Steve signs for the package and stares at the box as the guy walks away. Grabbing his letter opener, Steve slices through the tape holding the flaps down. He can feel everyone's gaze on him but opens the box anyway; he knows that if he doesn't, they'll just pester him with questions and speculation all day, so it's better to get this over with. As soon as the items are exposed, he gasps.

Inside, nestled among tissue paper and bubble wrap, are a set of high-end markers, pencils, sketchbooks, and one white card, folded in half; Steve picks up the card, unfolds it to read “ _For taking such good care of our son. ー Pepper and Tony_.” Steve barely manages to stifle the shaking of his hands as he gingerly reaches in for the supplies. He can afford pricier products, SHIELD reimburses him for anything he buys for the job, but he's always stuck with what he knows. He can't deny, though, that he has had his eye on this line for a very long time; it's supposed to be the best of the best, much smoother and reliable than anything else, and the pricetag reflects that quality.

“Loverboy send you that?” Clint calls from across the room, and Steve scoffs ー Tony isn't his lover, and besides, it's just a gift of gratitude.

Pietro leans over to see what Steve received, whistling sharply. “Wow, I need to get me a sugar daddy!”

“He's not my sugar daddy,” denies Steve automatically, and he regrets that immediately when both Pietro and Clint start cackling and singing _Sugar daddy, sugar daddy_ at the top of their voices. “Shut up, assholes.”

“Ah, let them have their fun, Steve. You know how childish they are. But seriously, this is some amazing shit, who sent it to ya?”

“A, um, a friend. I did a favour for him, and well, evidently this is how he thanks his friends who do favours for him.”

He sees her gaze shift to the card and lunges for it, but he's too late, it's already in her hand. She reads the message, her eyes growing wide.

“Holy effing _shit_ , you're friends with _Tony Stark_?”

“Uh, what?”

“It says 'Pepper and Tony’. The only combination of those two names I've ever heard of _and_ can afford all of this in one go is Pepper freaking Potts and Tony freaking Stark. You. Are friends. With Tony Stark.”

Steve plucks the card from her hand. “Keep it down, okay? I don't really wanna deal with Clint or Pietro hearing this.”

“Clint's mostly deaf, and Pietro is loud enough to break glass.” Her unimpressed expression turns to glee. “You gonna tell Bucky who your sugar daddy is?”

“I _don't_ have a sugar daddy, can we please stop talking about this now?”

“Fine, fine. I'll just be at my desk, basking in the knowledge that Tony Stark is your sugar daddy.”

“I hate you. So much.”

Kate blows him a kiss as she stalks away. The shout-singing is still going on in the background, and Steve digs in his drawer for his earbuds, hooking them up to his phone and stuffing the buds into his ear. Marvin Gaye thankfully drowns out the sound of his friends being childish idiots; he hesitates then opens his texting app.

 **To: Tony (15:32)** _Thank you_

 **From: Tony (16:03)** _For?_

 **To: Tony (16:03)** _The art supplies. I really appreciate it._

 **From: Tony (16:04)** _I remembered you said you're a comic book artist and figured those would be a good way to say thank you for letting me and Peter disrupt your life_

 **To: Tony (16:04)** _You didn't disrupt anything._  
**To: Tony (16:04)** _Although now I'm dealing with my friends being even bigger idiots than they usually are_  
**To: Tony (16:05)** _But it's kinda expected at this point_

 **From: Tony (16:05)** _My friends are too serious to be idiots_  
**From: Tony (16:05)** _I have a confession to make_

 **To: Tony (16:06)** _Are you actually a serial killer who wears the skin of his victims?_

 **From: Tony (16:12)** _What?? No. Do you really think I'm Hannibal Lecter?_  
**From: Tony (16:12)** _No._  
**From: Tony (16:12)** _Skin dries out too quickly, even with lotion_  
**From: Tony (16:13)** _I ran a background check on you_

 **To: Tony (16:14)** _Okay_

 **From: Tony (16:15)** _Okay?? Okay is all you have to say about the fact I violated your privacy and saw all of your criminal record and sordid past?_

 **To: Tony (16:15)** _I'd be more worried if I even had a sordid past_

 **From: Tony (16:16)** _Oh, but you DO have a criminal past?_

 **To: Tony (16:17)** _Thought you saw my criminal record? :p_

 **From: Tony (16:17)** _Touche._  
**From: Tony (16:17)** _I figured if you were going to watch my kid, then I needed to know who I was dealing with, who I was bringing into his life._  
**From: Tony (16:18)** _I'm not going to apologise for that._

 **To: Tony (16:18)** _I don't expect you to_  
**To: Tony (16:18)** _You did what you felt was right. I'd honestly be a bit more concerned if you hadn't done any kind of digging, since we don't know each other_

 **From: Tony (16:19)** _You are completely unreal._  
**From: Tony (16:19)** _Lunch?_

 **To: Tony (16:19)** _It's way past lunchtime, Tony._

 **From: Tony (16:20)** _Fine. Dinner?_  
**From: Tony (16:21)** _I was planning on eating in my office, but Pep would kill me if I didn't go home, so this saves me from being viciously murdered by a stiletto heel to the neck._

 **To: Tony (16:22)** _Lol I don't think Pepper would want to deal with that much blood. She'd probably hire someone_

 **From: Tony (16:22)** _Well, it isn't too far off the mark, I guess. What do you say?_

 **To: Tony (16:23)** _Sure. Where?_

 **From: Tony (16:24)** _My place, 7?_

 **To: Tony (16:24)** _I can do that. Do I need to bring anything?_

 **From: Tony (16:25)** _Well, yourself would be a good start. I don't know, what do people usually bring to dinner?_

 **To: Tony (16:26)** _Idk I don't remember a time I was ever invited to dinner_

 **From: Tony (16:29)** _Wow, really?_

 **To: Tony (16:30)** _Yeah. Haven't really met anyone new, and my friends aren't the kind to give a damn about dinner plans._  
**To: Tony (16:30)** _And by that, I mean we usually go to a diner_

_You poor soul. Don’t worry, you’re not missing much. Just bring yourself, I guess._

**To: Tony (16:31)** _I can do that._  
**To: Tony (16:31)** _Thanks_

Tony sends back a peace sign emoji, and Steve sets his phone down. It’s nearing five o’clock, which is just as well, since he can no longer concentrate on his comic. He packs up, waves goodbye to his coworkers, and heads out. As he walks down the sidewalk, he scrolls through his contacts until he gets to his ma’s number.

“Hey, Stevie, how are you?”

“Ma, what do you normally take to dinner?”

“My day was great, thanks for askin’.”

“Sorry, Ma. I just… I got invited over for dinner, and I don’t know if I should take somethin’ with me or not.”

“You can never go wrong with a bottle of wine or dessert.”

“I don’t know if he’s allergic to anything, though, d’ya think that’d pose a problem?”

“He?” She paused just long enough that Steve starts to wonder if his ma has hung up. “Stevie, do you have a date with your neighbour?”

“Okay, first off, it’s not a date, and even if I was going on a date, why would your mind immediately jump to my neighbour?”

“Fine, it’s not a date with your neighbour. Honestly, Steve, just get an angel food cake or something. It’s not a big deal, I promise. Deep breath.”

“Thanks, Ma. So, now that I’ve been rude, how was your day?”

He listens to his mother as she tells him about her shift at the hospital, the antics of her patients, and her plans for her day off. Steve makes a mental note to go over and visit her when he can. They talk as Steve winds his way through the grocery store, picking out some fruit and tiny cakes and a bottle of wine that ends up being more expensive than he'd expected it to be, having come from a grocery store, but he doesn't want to buy something cheap. He firmly tells himself that he's not hoping to impress Tony. Not at all.

His neighbour's cat is meowing loudly in the hall when Steve comes to a stop outside his door. He leans down to scratch behind her ears, taps on 3C’s door, then heads inside his own apartment. Nala tries streaking past his feet, but a gentle nudge of his boot sends her scuttling backwards. He shuts the door before she can attempt another unwelcome entrance. Steve has no problem with Nala, she's a great and loving cat, but trying to get her back out of the apartment usually takes hours, and he really doesn't have time for that particular chase right now.

Shoving the groceries into his fridge to keep cold, he makes his way to the bathroom, stripping on the way. He showers quickly, makes sure that every inch of his body is scrubbed clean and that he doesn't stink from the walk to and from work; he loops a towel around his waist as he steps out of the shower stall, turning the water off as he goes. He shaves quickly but thoroughly, splashes on some aftershave, and walks into his bedroom. Finding a plain white T-shirt and boxer-briefs is the easy part, but it leaves him struggling to figure out what to wear. He doesn’t want to look too dressy, nor does he want to look too casual. He eventually settles on a pair of black slacks and a dark oxford shirt with a white gingham pattern, rolls the sleeves to his elbows. Steve inhales slowly, trying to force himself to calm down as he examines his reflection in the mirror on the back of his bedroom door. He pulls on a pair of navy socks as he hops his way back down the hall to grab up his converse shoes.

Tony answers the door and blinks owlishly at the bottle that Steve is holding out. “Hi, you're on time, did you really bring wine?”

“I, uh, I didn't know what to bring. You're not allergic to anything are you?”

“No, but ー oh, hell, just get in here. This is awkward enough without you standing outside my door looking like you kicked a puppy and are dying from the guilt.”

Dinner is relatively quiet; neither man talks about anything more than the basics of their days. It’s awkward and stilted, and Steve finds himself wondering if this is what Tony had in mind for the night when he invited Steve over. Texting had been so easy, so simple, not full of this...weirdness. The glass of wine in front of Steve hasn’t been touched, and Tony has only taken one small sip since the meal started.

“Okay, I really did not envision having such a painfully awkward dinner.”

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, neither did I. Funny what only having one thing in common can do to a couple of people.”

“So, Steven Grant Rogers, tell me something about yourself that a background check wouldn’t pick up.”

“Um, I have no idea. I guess I could tell you about the time I broke an ankle jumping off a second-story fire escape.”

At Tony’s gesture, his eyes amused, Steve launches into the story of the time he and Bucky had been in Melissa Wolmack’s apartment, ostensibly studying, but the only thing Bucky was studying was the taste of her mouth. Steve, though, he’d been trying so hard to prepare for the finals coming up the next week even through the weird moaning and heavy breathing not even three feet away. Then her parents had suddenly come home, her dad disappeared down the hall and came back with a baseball bat, and Steve hadn’t hesitated, just shoved his books haphazardly into his bag, gritted his teeth, and slipped through the window. Bucky, having followed closely behind in order to not have his head become the latest style of baseball, had landed on a pile of garbage bags, while Steve hadn’t had the same luck: He hit the lid of the dumpster then tumbled to the ground. The adrenaline had prevented him from noticing the excruciating pain emanating up his leg until they were at least three blocks away and his throat was nearly completely closed. Ma had been, quite understandably, furious as she drove him to the hospital once he’d used his inhaler and could breathe again. Steve hadn’t had a verbal tongue-lashing like that in a long time. He only regretted ever letting Bucky convince him that Melissa Wolmack was worth the risk of an overprotective former-Marine of a father; she really wasn’t.

This story leads into a few others, all about the antics he and Bucky got up to as kids and teenagers, before Bucky shipped off to the Army and Steve did the same the year after. Steve falls silent when he finishes the retelling of the final hours of laughter and jokes before the Incident ー the one that cost them Rollins and Hodge, and came too close to taking Bucky, too. He manages to swallow down the bile that creeps up his throat at the thought of not having his best friend in his life any more.

“You okay?” Tony asks after a few minutes of silence; his fingers play with the stem of his wine glass, but he doesn’t take a drink.

Steve nods. “Yeah, I’m…I’m fine. Just, it's hard. To talk about, I mean.”

Tony dips his head in a nod, but Steve knows he doesn't understand fully, he _can't_ understand the agony and fear that comes with an attack, an explosion that destroys their transport and takes their lives as easily as a candle being snuffed out by a breeze. Thankfully, that's the most of a response that Steve gets. Tony doesn't offer platitudes or words of wisdom about something he hasn't witnessed, and he sure as hell doesn't tell Steve that he'll be fine. It's been a few years since then, and Steve has mostly gotten through the trauma, but he still has a hard time opening up about it. He clears his throat, takes a sip of the wine, tries ー and fails at ー not grimacing at the dry, bittersweet taste. Tony catches his expression, laughing softly, and reaches across the table to snag Steve's glass away. He barely has to stretch to set it on the counter; Steve is oddly grateful for it. If the glass had remained, he would continue to drink it, never mind how disgusting he finds the liquid.

“So, who's Bucky? I know you've known him since childhood, I get that, having friends for that long is great, but…”

“He's my best friend,” Steve replies, saving Tony from any more floundering. “Always been friends, hopefully always will be. He's saved my ass so many times.”

“That's nice.”

Steve gets the feeling there's something Tony isn't saying, but he doesn't press further. The dinner, while awkward, has been pleasant, and he prefers not to ruin that.

… … … … 

Peter squeals as his tiny fingers twist in Steve's hair. Steve keeps his hands on the child's knees as he carefully manoeuvres his way through the crowded market, past bins of fresh fruit and stands of packaged seeds. Having Peter on his shoulders had seemed like a smart idea at the time: It meant not running the risk of Peter dashing off into the throngs of people while Steve's back was turned. But it's also made hunting for the perfect fruit difficult, since Steve can't stoop over to examine the produce without Peter potentially toppling over and off his perch. Plus, Peter may only be five, but he's got some strength in his legs, has come perilously close to strangling Steve on accident.

“Your boy is such a cutie,” the lady behind the melons says, smiling brightly up at Peter. “You havin’ fun up there, buddy?”

“Yeah, Steve's the _best_.”

Her brow raises in question, but she doesn't say anything about it. “Mind if I give him some honeydew?”

“What do ya say, Petey-bug? Want some honeydew?”

“Is it good?” Peter whispers down to Steve, his grip tightening slightly.

“I love it. It's sweet and juicy, and maybe I should set you down if you're gonna eat it.”

“No! I'm staying! But yes, please, I want some hun'dew.”

The woman grins widely, handing over two chunks of melon. “Here ya go. Enjoy!”

“Thank you!” Peter calls back as Steve turns away.

They haven't gotten more than five steps from the stand when Steve feels the first drops hitting his head. He breathes in slowly, ignores the fact that fruit juice and, most likely, slobber are now in his hair. Peter's having fun, and they're getting healthy snacks. That's what's important.

When Peter starts swaying on Steve's shoulders twenty minutes later, Steve sets his bag on a ledge, shifts Peter into his arms and rests the child on his hip, and heads toward the exit. He's gotten enough, and Peter is nearly asleep. He decides against hailing a taxi; they aren't too far from the apartment, anyway. At least he was sure they weren't, but halfway back, Steve starts reassessing that assumption. The trip home seems to take four times as long as the walk to the market. Then again, he hadn't had a sleeping child on his hip that time.

“Damn, what'd you do, hit him over the head with a hammer?”

Steve smiles tiredly at Tony once he reaches the landing, allowing the transfer of child to father. “Hey. He was good.”

“Of course he was. He takes after his mom like that.” Tony glances away from his son's face, his teeth biting down on his lower lip in an effort to stifle a laugh. “Mm, kid drool, it's the latest fashion.”

“Absolutely. Only the best, most haute couture designs for this guy.”

“Sure, sure, I can see it. You also have what looks like...melon in your hair, why do you have melon in your hair?”

“Your kid likes honeydew.”

Tony’s laugh slips out, strangled and quiet. “He's a fruit freak.”

“I've noticed. He eats all my bananas, but only the ones that are starting to turn brown. The spottier, the better, evidently.”

“They're sweeter and softer that way.” Tony brushes a hand over Peter's hair. “Thanks, Steve. He...he really wanted to spend time with you today.”

“Not a problem. Kid's a great one. But, unfortunately, I have to go shower. As fashionable as drool and melon is, it's also sticky and gross.”

Tony's eyes seem to glaze over at the mention of a shower, but the expression is gone almost instantly. “Of course. Go on. I'll make sure Peter knows you say goodbye and you'll see him in two weeks.”

“Okay, thanks, Tony. Tell Pepper I said hello, please.”

“I will.”

After a quick shower, small clumps of melon splatting onto the floor and him dancing awkwardly when the hot water suddenly turns icy, Steve stumbles out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. It's barely five-thirty in the afternoon, but he's exhausted. He's spent the last three hours with Peter at the park then the market, walking around and chasing the child between playground equipment. It was more fun than Steve has had in a long time, and he enjoyed every second.

But now he's tired, worn out, and unable to ignore the fact the apartment is so much quieter now that there's nothing and no one to be responsible for. He sprawls face-first on his bed, breathes in the smell of fabric softener, relaxing into the comfort of the mattress. He's almost asleep when the sound of someone in his kitchen startles him to full awareness; he barely keeps a grip on the towel as he hurries out of his room and down the hall to see someone digging through his fridge.

“Excuse me, what the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

The person swears loudly as the back of their head slams into the edge of the fridge; Steve winces at the sight ー there’s no way that doesn’t hurt. He can feel heat rushing into his cheeks when the person turns around. Tony raises a brow and pops a cube of cheddar into his mouth, chewing slowly.

“Wow, I really wasn’t expecting a show.”

Steve hitches the towel tighter around him, makes sure it’s covering him even as Tony’s gaze rakes over his exposed skin. Steve rolls his eyes at Tony's leer, turns on his heel, and goes back to his room. After hurriedly dressing in a pair of cotton sleep-pants and a threadbare t-shirt, he rejoins Tony in the kitchen. The other man has made himself at home on the living room floor, scrolling through Steve's Netflix queue on the battered laptop that sits on the television stand.

“Yes, please, mi casa es su casa.”

“Oops, sorry, forgot to warn ya, I'm a snooper, I snoop. Pepper says I really need to stop it, but it's ingrained in me, I can't just _stop_.”

“It's...it's fine, Tony. Why are you even here?”

“I…” Tony avoids Steve's gaze, staring intently at the still from _Sense8_. “My apartment is too quiet now. I, uh, I figured we’re friends now, and friends hang out, right? But if I got it wrong, which happens a lot no matter how much I'm loathe to admit it, if I'm wrong, tell me, and I'll leave, no questions asked.”

“Nah, stay. It's okay. Want a drink?”

“I'm going to assume you don't have liquor, so water's fine.”

Steve fills two glasses with water from the tap and wonders how this became his life. He never expected, when he moved in, that his neighbour would be Tony Stark or that said neighbour would just let himself into Steve's apartment without permission. But Steve can't be too upset, not really, not when he's had the same feeling of the flat being too quiet without the presence of Peter. The paper pinned to the fridge catches his eye, and he stares silently at the red and blue stick figure ー SPIDERMAN written underneath in Peter's scrawling handwriting, the “R” and “N” backwards. A black blob with eight legs takes up residence in the corner. Peter had drawn it the last time he was over; he'd even come up with a backstory for the character, magnanimously giving Steve permission to display the drawing ー and even to use the character in any future comics. Steve's already gotten the issue nearly panelled out, set to be Peter's birthday gift.

Steve sets the glasses on the coffee table, sitting heavily on the couch. He knows he should warn Tony that he won’t be much company, not tonight, but oddly enough, he doesn’t want to make Tony feel like he has to leave. So instead, he watches as Tony gets _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ going. When Tony sits beside him, it’s close, closer than Steve expected, but he doesn’t complain. The warmth Tony is giving off is pleasant, comforting. It keeps the loneliness at bay. Steve lets himself melt into the cushions, forces his brain to not dwell on the fact that their knees are pressed together.

Steve jerks awake to the sound of the occasional car passing on the street outside, dogs barking down the block, the air conditioning unit rattling in the window; the room is dark save for the bars of orange-yellow that filter through the blinds, and the blanket he usually keeps on the back of the couch for Peter is draped over his curled-up body. He pushes himself to a sitting position, wiping sleep from his eyes, and reaches for his cell phone. The clock reads 03:59, and the notification light blinks up at him. He unlocks the device and opens the message.

 **From: Tony (23:48)** _Sleep well, Steve._  
**From: Tony (23:59)** _Thanks for letting me come over._

Steve taps on the thumbnail of the image that Tony sent, groaning at the sight of him resting his head on the arm of the couch, a throw pillow against his chest, completely asleep. He closes out of the message thread and stands, stretching out the kinks in his back. He makes a detour to the bathroom, does his business, and then heads to his bedroom. It doesn’t take long for him to fall back asleep in his bed.

… … … …

“You should ask him out,” announces Natasha, and Steve chokes on his coffee at the non-sequitur, considering the conversation had firmly been on the drama that comes from a project affiliated with Alexander Pierce.

“Uh, what?”

“Not Pierce, obviously, but Tony. You should ask him out.”

“Where the hell is this coming from?” Steve asks, internally wincing at the slight whining in his voice.

Bucky pats him on the shoulder, the gesture meant to be comforting thought it’s anything but. “She’s right, Stevie. You’ve been babysitting his kid for, what is it, four months? And ya text each other pretty much daily. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so into someone that you’re not dating, and ya sure as hell don’t allow someone to just waltz into your place unless a, it’s one of us or b, you’re in a relationship with them.”

“He doesn’t just waltz in,” and Steve knows his protests are weak, because Tony absolutely _does_ just barge into the apartment whenever he wants company and he knows Steve is home. More often than not, they eat dinner together then Tony comes back after an hour or two and takes over Steve’s couch, staying until after Steve’s fallen asleep. “Buck…”

“Steve. C’mon, man. You deserve to be happy. And he makes you happy, don’t try to deny.”

“Oh, are we discussing how lovey-dovey Steve gets whenever he hears from his loverboy?”

Steve throws a coffee stirrer like a dart at Clint’s face, but the other man just knocks it off its trajectory with a laugh; Steve scowls and, knowing it won’t do any good, says forcefully, “He’s not my loverboy, oh my fuckin’ god.”

“Not _yet_.”

“I hate all of you. So much.”

Steve heads to his desk, shoves his earbuds into his ears, and drowns the others out with the RENT soundtrack. But he can’t stop repeating Bucky and Natasha’s words in his head. With a heavy sigh, he pulls his phone out from his pocket and opens the thread with Tony. The last text was sent two days ago, a mass of random letters and symbols ー either Peter got a hold of Tony’s phone, or Tony was mind-numbingly bored at a meeting; both of those options are equally possible, and neither of them would surprise Steve in the least. He takes a steadying breath, starts typing out a message only to delete everything before he can get the courage to press Send. This repeats five times before his phone is suddenly ripped from his hand, and a soft whoosh sounds as Natasha lets his phone drop back to his desk. He sends a glare in her direction, but she merely smiles and ambles through the room to go back to the Photography section.

 **To: Tony (14:17)** _You busy Friday? If not, wanna go out?_

It’s a terrible way of asking someone out on a date, Steve knows it, though he can’t be upset with Nat for doing it for him ー he’s well aware that he probably wouldn’t have ever gotten over his nerves to actually ask Tony himself. His gratitude fades as time slips on without a response. Three o’clock, four o’clock, five o’clock, and still no reply from Tony. Steve tries his best to convince himself that Tony was most likely busy with the company he runs, but he can’t help the doubts. What if Tony just tries to let him down easy, but nothing is the same and Steve can no longer babysit Peter? What if their friendship is irrevocably ruined, and it’s strained and awkward and they can’t even talk to each other without going their separate ways immediately because it’s just too painful?

Steve manages to push himself to his feet and out the door. He ignores Bucky motioning at him in the parking lot, just turns toward home and makes his way down the block. By the time he gets to his building, his neck feels like it's on fire, and he's sweating through his shirt. He unlocks his door, slamming it shut behind him. He would normally feel guilty over it ー he's not the only one who lives in the building, after all ー but his emotions are all mixed up, a jumbled maelstrom he can't make heads nor tails of.

His shower is quick; he doesn't wait for the water to warm up before he steps in. The icy spray is shocking, sends goosebumps racing along his skin, but he methodically scrubs himself down until he's clean. His head is slightly clearer when he shuts the water off. If Tony says no, there's not much Steve can do about it, but it doesn't mean he has to let it destroy the friendship they've built over shared episodes of _Star Trek_ and commiserating over empty apartments.

He's just pulled on a fresh change of clothes when a knock sounds at the door. Steve peeks through the peephole and sees a familiar head of dark hair. He pulls the door open and steps back, letting Tony enter.

“Did you mean it?”

“The text?”

“Yes, duh, the text, did you mean it?”

Steve takes a deep breath and nods once. It's all he can do, his voice isn't working now. His mouth is dry, his chest is tight, and seriously, why is Tony staring at him like that? Steve flinches as Tony closes the door, the quiet _snick_ of the latch deafening in the otherwise silent apartment, and when Tony turns back around, he has one hand in his hair, and he's chewing on his lower lip.

“Steve, God, I, normally, you'd be the exact type of guy I'd go for ー beautiful but also so, so smart and funny and creative. I'd go for you, but I'd be so wrong for you, but I'd be too selfish to give a fuck about that. I would, believe me, you're exactly my type. But, I, I can't.” Tony swallows and stares at something over Steve's right ear even as he continues, the words like bullets, “I can't, and I'm so unbelievably sorry for it, Steve, I wish I could, but I just...can't.”

Steve bites back the urge to say _fuck that_ , the knee-jerk reaction to Tony's rejection so close to the surface that it's harder than it should have been. “Can, can I ask why?”

“Does it really matter?” Tony whispers as he finally meets Steve's eye for the first time since he stepped through the door.

“It does. To me, it does. I know it makes no sense, and it's probably stupid, but it matters to me.”

Sighing, Tony crosses the room, drops onto the couch, and holds his head in his hands. “It’s not stupid, really, it isn’t. I just...I can’t do that to you.”

“Do...what?”

“I’m a father, and Peter will always, always, _always_ come first. You’ll get pushed to the side every single time, and if it isn’t Peter I’m focusing on, it’s work. Pepper always says that I destroy relationships because I can’t ever find a good enough balance between work and who I’m dating, and she would know, she and I dated for three years before it blew up in our faces, and it only lasted that long because she’s so damn stubborn and she loves so much, it wasn’t even an option for so long for it to _not_ work. But then Peter came along, and we both realised that we were less of a couple and more of...friends who happened to have a child together. We hadn’t had sex in nearly a year, since a couple weeks after we found out she was pregnant, and it just wasn’t working, but we tried so hard to pretend it was fine, that it wasn’t falling to pieces around us, and I don’t want to do that to you, Steve, I _can’t_ do that to you. Pepper was so amazing, so wonderful, so perfect, and she didn’t deserve it, but it happened, and I regret that I couldn’t get the balance right. She should’ve gotten the world, but instead, she got me.”

“From where I’m standing, ‘you’ looks pretty good, Tony.”

“How the fuck are you even real?”

And if Tony’s voice is cracking, his eyes shining with unshed tears, Steve isn’t going to mention it. He sits next to Tony, pulls the other man’s hand into his own even as Tony struggles, and presses a soft kiss to the skin on the back of Tony’s hand. He clears his throat and searches for the right words to say.

“Tony, I know. Okay? I know Peter is always going to be your first priority, no matter what. I’ve been watching him for almost five months, and so I’m used to him being around. Not just in my life, but in yours, as well. I won’t ever resent you for your child coming before me. He needs his father. But, please, don’t say ‘no’ just because of that, because of him needing you and you needing to be there for him. If you’re not interested, that’s fine, I won’t push it. But you deserve to be happy, and I, I’d like to think I can make you happy.”

“And if it fails? What then? We’ll just pretend nothing ever happened, and you’ll continue babysitting Peter like we’d never kissed or dated or fucked?”

“I...I don’t know, I’m not going to lie, I really don’t. But isn’t it worth the risk, if it turns out better than you’re afraid of?” Steve squeezes gently on Tony’s hand. “Isn’t it worth it to _try_?”

Silence descends, thick and resounding, as Tony mulls over Steve's words. Steve doesn't push for a response, doesn't speak. He hadn't considered pursuing a relationship with Tony beyond what they already had. He had been content enough just to be neighbours, sort of friends, had been willing to ignore his attraction to Tony and hope it went away with time, but Bucky had made a good point. Steve's always valued his privacy, making exceptions only for those closest to him; he has rarely had this quick of a connection with someone who wasn't Bucky. Tony, though… Tony is different, somehow. Even now that Steve knows exactly who Tony is ー and he feels so dumb for not having made the connection sooner, but he figures he can be forgiven for it, since Tony's long been out of the spotlight save for sporadic appearances at charity galas ー Steve doesn't think his feelings have anything to do with the other man's last name and wealth. He _knows_ without a doubt that it isn't for those reasons. Tony's much more than his name, his company, his fortune, his legacy, and Steve wants to know more about who Tony is at his core. So he sits there and waits for any response, though he's hoping for a certain one.

Tony's breath escapes shakily, and he slowly faces Steve. His gaze remains on their connected hands, but Steve can still see the slight smile amidst all the confusion and apprehension.

“If, for any reason…” He stops, clears his throat. “If this doesn't work out, I will kill you if you take it out on Peter. I mean, I don't think you will, but the threat ー no, the _promise_ ー needs to be said, because he has nothing to do with this, he's innocent. We will go about our lives as if we've never been more than neighbours who occasionally cross paths.”

“Absolutely.”

Steve hesitates then raises his free hand to brush away a stray lock of hair from Tony's eyes. Tony finally meets his gaze straight on. Steve tries to let Tony make the first move, but he can't, he's too impatient, so he leans in, slower than he'd have liked, telegraphing his movements in case Tony wants to stop this. But Tony's chin is tilting up, his head is cocking, and their lips are meeting in the middle, just a gentle brush, another, then harder, more insistent. Something in Steve's chest settles, grips tight and effuses warmth, and it isn't long before he's released Tony's hand to wrap one arm around the other man's waist. Tony tastes like coffee, wine, and some tropical fruit, and Steve chases that taste as his tongue presses against the seam of Tony's lips, dips into Tony's mouth. Tony gives just as good as he gets, his fingers twisting into Steve's hair as he pushes closer. Steve would usually be able to keep himself upright, but he finds his body has plans of its own; he lets himself fall backwards until the arm of the couch is digging mercilessly into his shoulders, Tony following close behind. The arm around Tony's waist tightens, holds him closer still, and he groans softly when Tony settles his thighs against Steve's waist. Steve drags a hand along Tony's side, his back, before it wraps around the back of Tony's neck, squeezes gently. Tony gasps into his mouth, hips jerking wildly, and Steve somehow manages to file that observation away somewhere in the back of his mind as he loses himself in the taste, the feel, of Tony.

Too soon, Tony breaks the kiss, pulling back with a harsh gasp of breath. Their chests are heaving, both panting brokenly though they've done nothing but kiss. Tony stares down at Steve with wide eyes, black nearly overtaking the brown, and his lips twitch minutely before giving way to a full-blown grin.

“I think I'm gonna have fun with you,” he whispers before pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth.

“But?”

“Why do you assume there's a but?”

“Is there?” Steve asks, and Tony lets out a laugh, kisses Steve senseless again.

“There is, unfortunately, well, your butt is not unfortunate, god, your ass is amazing, but in this case, the but _is_ unfortunate, because I think I'm gonna have fun with you but not tonight.”

“Okay.”

The look Tony gives him is unreadable, and he huffs and leans down to rest his forehead against Steve's. “How are you even real?”

“You ask that a lot,” murmurs Steve, stretching slightly to catch Tony's mouth once more, their tongues dancing and tangling almost immediately. “Do you have to go?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I gotta wake up way too early. Pete's got a presentation at school, so I'm gonna meet up with him and Pepper for breakfast beforehand.”

“All right.” Steve strokes a finger along Tony's cheek. “Tell him I said hi.”

“I will. I really don't wanna go. Home tonight, I mean, but if I stay, there's no way I'd be able to get up in the morning.”

“I'm sure I could make you get up.”

Tony groans, a guttural sound from deep in his throat. “Don't talk like that, Jesus, I can't handle that right now.”

They fall silent again, breathing each other's air and exchanging languid kisses, until finally, Tony pushes himself to a full sitting position. Steve moans at the movement; the sudden, delicious pressure is too much, and his head falls back, thumping against the armrest as he wills his erection to go away. It doesn't happen, though, not with Tony looking as wrecked as he does, with the weight of Tony over and around him. His hands clench into fists at his sides, and he fights the urge to lift his hips, to press closer to Tony, to rut wildly against Tony until he gets release. The only thing that stops him is the thought of his actions causing Tony to disappoint Peter. With a sigh, he lifts his hands to grip Tony's waist.

“Ya gotta go. Sorry, but if you, if you stay here, and we keep layin’ like this, I ain't gonna wanna letcha go, and I don't wanna be the reason you miss Peter's presentation.”

Tony lets out a heavy sigh, leans down to nudge at Steve's jaw with his nose, and there's no denying he's just as affected by these events as Steve is. The kiss they share now is soft, chaste, and Tony's gone off of Steve's lap before Steve can push for more. He grins at Steve like he knows what Steve is thinking.

“I'll, uh, I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I promise it won't be ages before we do the whole date thing.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

Tony ducks down for one final kiss, keeping it tantalising and slow, before turning away toward the door. He doesn't look back as he walks out of the apartment, and Steve waits until the door closes to cover his face with his hands and groan, the sound echoing in the silence. He lets his hands drop and glares at his groin, cursing quietly and stumbling to his feet, heading toward the bathroom to take a very cold shower.

Bucky just smiles knowingly the next morning when Steve finally gets to the office. Thankfully, he doesn't mention the fact that Steve is the last to arrive at nearly eight o'clock. He just hands over a mug of coffee, cuffs Steve gently on the shoulder, and ambles to the photography section. Steve knows he's blushing, he can feel how hot his cheeks are, and he studiously ignores everyone else in the room. It isn't so easy to do when his phone vibrates on his desk and he sees the screen lighting up with a text from Tony.

_May's 6:30 Fri?_

He sends back a _Sounds good!_ and gets to work, looking forward to Friday with more enthusiasm than he thinks is appropriate.

… … … … 

The week drags on, like time is wont to do when one has something they're excited about on their calendar. Steve goes home early on Friday afternoon, unable to concentrate on his comics because he's so easily distracted by thoughts of Tony and how he'd felt over Steve the night they started this dating thing. Steve had nearly jumped out of his skin at every little noise in the office, and the long walk back to the apartment had done little to get rid of all the nervous tension.

He's just stepping out of the shower when he hears the front door bang shut. He recognises the footsteps across the floor, rolling his eyes but infinitely thankful that Bucky knows Steve is a wreck right now. He's less thankful when he walks out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist to see Bucky and Sam sprawled on the sofa together, Clint perched on the arm with his feet in Bucky's lap, and Natasha rummaging through the fridge. She backs away with a bag of grapes in hand, and Steve sighs and makes a mental note to buy more in case Peter comes over any time soon.

“Why are you all here?”

“Because you're hopeless when it comes to dates,” replies Clint without an ounce of shame or apology.

“I do just fine, thank you very much.”

Nobody bothers to dignify that with a response. Instead, Bucky gets to his feet with one last gentle squeeze to Clint's ankle, and Steve follows behind as they make their way to his bedroom. Natasha slips past Steve, heading straight for his closet. Steve barely resists sighing at the clatter of hangers on the rod; he knows not to question her actions or methods ー she usually has his best interests in his mind. So he stands back, lets her do what she’s going to do. When she emerges from the closet, she has a pair of dark jeans and a maroon Henley, one he knows is tighter than it really needs to be, in hand. He takes it from her, grabs a pair of boxer-briefs and a white a-shirt from the dresser, and makes his way back to the bathroom to dress quickly. Clint lets out a low whistle upon Steve’s exit.

“If you don’t get laid tonight, then Stark’s dumber than the media makes him out to be.”

Steve can feel his cheeks burning, but he focuses more on locating a pair of shoes that aren't nearly falling apart from wearing them constantly. He manages to find black hiking boots in the back of the guest room closet that have very little scuffs. He’d bought them last summer when everyone had made plans to go camping and hiking but never had; instead, he’s only worn them a couple of times, one of which was a photoshoot that Coulson had asked him to participate in and he’d needed something to take his mind off of his latest breakup. He can’t even remember now who that person had been, the relationship had meant so little in the end, but at the time, it’d hurt like Hell.

Once the boots are on his feet, he steps back into his bedroom to shoo his friends out of his apartment before Tony shows up. Steve loves his friends, he really does, but he is well aware of their proclivity to be overwhelming. Thankfully, Natasha understands that he’s stressed and nervous, so she ushers the other three through the door and down the stairs. Steve knows that her mercy isn’t going to last long ー she’ll be the first to pounce on him in the morning for details, even before Bucky.

He gets fifteen minutes of relative quiet, punctuated with the sound of his footsteps on the floor, before a sharp knock sounds. Steve takes a steadying breath and crosses the room. It isn’t Tony, unfortunately, just 3C asking if he’s seen Nala around. Steve merely shakes his head, shrugs apologetically, and closes the door again. He checks the clock on his phone with every circuit of the room that he makes, watching the minutes tick upward, wishing time would go faster. Finally, he can hear the familiar sound of Tony’s shoes against the worn wood of the staircase. His phone vibrates in his hand, and he glances down at the device to see the screen lighting up with a text from Tony.

_I swear I’m not standing you up heading in now gonna get changed really fast please don’t be mad at me please_

_I’m not mad_ , Steve sends back. _You’re not even really late. Take your time. Don’t kill yourself trying to rush._

 **From: Tony (18:26)** _Of course i won’t kill myself. Thta would mean not going out with you tonight_

 **To: Tony (18:27)** _Yeah and then I’d be sad :(_

Tony doesn't respond, but Steve figures the other man is changing like he said he would. So he just lets himself collapse onto the couch to wait; unfortunately, his nervousness gets the best of him, and within heartbeats, he's up and pacing the floor again. He _wants_ this ー he may not have been the one to ask, that was all Nat, but he absolutely does want this, wants whatever he can get of Tony. But Tony is… Tony's Tony, even without the last name. He's brilliant, witty, generosity wrapped in sarcasm and barbs dipped in snark, and add in the Stark legacy and fortune, and Steve doesn't amount to nearly a quarter of the man Tony is. He can hear Bucky now, all _Shut up, punk, you deserve to be happy, Tony ain't shit if he can't see how great you are_ , but it's still overwhelming.

His thoughts are interrupted by a rhythmic knock on the door. He grinds to a halt and swallows down the sudden surge of panic. Taking a few steadying breaths, Steve smooths down his shirt and makes his way across the room. Tony stands just on the other side, and he grins widely as soon as the door opens.

“You look amazing,” he breathes out before darting forward to press a soft kiss to Steve's lips. “Damn, Iー I had something to say, but you made me dumb, with you looking like that, anyway, hi, sorry I'm late.”

Steve smiles and cups Tony's jaw with a hand, guiding his head until their lips meet again, this time sweeter and less hurried, soft drags of their lips; he chuckles quietly at the muffled moan Tony makes low in his throat. “Hi.”

“Uh, shall we?”

“After you.”

Steve watches the way Tony's suit jacket clings to his shoulders, the subtle swing of his hips as he steps down the staircase. Nala meows plaintively on the second-floor landing, and Steve ducks down long enough to scratch behind her ear, continuing to follow Tony down the stairs and into the small underground parking garage. Tony stops next to his car, presses a hand to Steve's chest, and smiles widely.

“Allow me, since you're my date. This time.”

Steve has to search his memory, but then he remembers the very first time he ever rode in Tony's car. His cheeks burn even as he laughs, kissing Tony gently. Tony pulls the door open, waits for Steve to get settled in the passenger seat, then shuts the door with a solid thump. Steve exhales shakily while he watches Tony round the back of the car and slide into his own seat. They don't speak as Tony pulls out of the parking stall, as he steers the vehicle onto the road, but unlike their disastrous first dinner, this silence isn't uncomfortable. The soft strains of guitar and drums fill the air, and Steve catches himself bobbing his head along to the beat. He ignores the amused glances Tony sends his way, reaching over the console to grasp Tony's free hand in his own.

May's looks different in the evening, a silhouette against a twilight sky; the large windows are bursting with light, and just beyond the panes of glass, a waitress refills glasses at a table for four, another carries a tray to a booth toward the back, and the man from before ー was his name Ben? ー stands behind the cash register, laughing and talking as he takes money from a departing patron. Steve finally drags his eyes away from the tableau in front of him only to find Tony staring at him with eyes softened by...something, and a slight smile on his lips. Steve grins back, brings Tony’s hand to his lips, and kisses the skin before leaning over to kiss Tony’s cheek.

Tony holds the door to the restaurant open, ushering Steve in with a gentle hand on his back, and leads the way to a smaller table in the way back of the building. The waitress smiles widely when she stops by their table.

“Hey there, Mr St ー uh, Parker. How are ya tonight?”

“Hey, Darcy. Didn’t think you still worked here.”

Darcy shrugs. “Need to get some cash somehow, right? I mean, working with Jane is great, I don’t have to do a whole lot of much except make sure she doesn’t croak because she doesn’t take care of herself and occasionally scare the asshats in charge of funding into not dismissing her just because she’s a woman, and we all know science is a,” she lowers her voice and puffs out her chest, “man’s world.” With a roll of her eyes, she sighs and continues, “But yeah, it’s great, but I needed a little more cash flow in my life. Aaaand who is this tall drink of water?” she asks, finally dragging her eyes away from Tony to land solely on Steve.

“This is Steve, be nice to Steve, Darcy, he’s skittish.”

“I ー”

“You’re _skittish_ , Steven, stop trying to pretend you’re not. He likes to pretend he’s so brave and social, but he’s not, he’s skittish.”

“Aw, don’t worry, Mr Parker, he’s all yours. I’ve already got my eye on someone, and she’s not buff and blond.”

“Well, good luck, Darce. Usual for me, please. Steve?”

Steve skims over the menu before ordering a burger. Darcy nods succinctly and makes her way to the kitchen area, her long dark curls bouncing against her shoulders as she swings her hips to and fro with a bit more motion than necessary. Thankfully, their conversation isn’t stilted or awkward this time; Tony talks about Peter and work and Pepper (“This is bad etiquette, isn’t it, to talk about your ex on a first date with your current boyー it’s just a terrible idea, right?” “Tony, I already know about you and Pepper, which is why I know there’s nothing more than friendship and co-parenting, and were you about to call me your boyfriend?” “Don’t be silly, Steven, we’re not in grade school.”), and Steve talked more about the shenanigans of his youth with Bucky, how he stumbled onto being a comic book writer and artist, and his ma. Darcy leaves them alone for most of the date, only swooping in sneakily once or twice to refill their drinks and to whisper encouragement in Steve’s ear whenever Tony isn’t paying particular attention due to being engrossed in whatever he is saying. She sets a bowl of ice cream and two spoons onto the table before taking away their plates, and Tony looks around; Steve turns just in time to see Ben gesturing at them to continue the date.

Though Tony’s parked the car in the garage, the two of them are too busy sharing kisses that taste like chocolate and coffee to bother getting out of the vehicle. The only reason they stop, in the end, is because Tony’s phone starts vibrating in its holder on the dashboard, and the smiling face of Peter on the screen is a rather effective mood-killer. Steve breaks away with a gasp, shifting in his seat and adjusting his pants, and Tony swears softly before stabbing at the Accept button. Steve steps out of the car so that Tony can talk to his son in private. The air outside is heavy, thick with humidity and the smell of exhaust and oil, and it helps destroy the rest of Steve’s libido easily; not being around Tony’s cologne, or being unable to touch or see him, doesn’t hurt anything, either. Steve leans against the car, runs a hand through his hair, and waits.

It’s only two minutes later that Tony joins him, apologising profusely. Steve cuts him off with a kiss, pressing more insistently any time Tony opens his mouth to say sorry again. Finally, Tony gets the hint and rolls his eyes. He laces their fingers together and tugs Steve toward the stairs. The view now is much better ー every time Tony takes a step up, his ass is tantalisingly in Steve’s direct eyeline, and Steve has to fight the urge to touch. His ma raised him better than that, and consent is always the biggest turn-on. So he merely soaks up the sight as they make their way up three more flights of stairs until they come to a stop on their landing. Another kiss is shared, this one a teasing, playful kind of thing, before Tony pulls away and smiles regretfully.

“I’d stay, but I kinda promised Peter I’d call him back immediately so I can sing his lullaby.”

“Go on, then, don’t keep him waitin’.”

“You’re amazing,” Tony whispers, pressing a butterfly-soft kiss to Steve’s cheek, and Steve watches as he heads to his door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve.”

“Night, Tony. Sleep tight.”

One date turns into two, and Steve knows it’s fast, knows it’s much too soon, but he’s absolutely falling harder than he’d fallen for even Brock. The four years spent with Brock, thought he was in love with Brock, feel like nothing compared to what he feels for Tony now, as if they’ve known each other for their entire lives, as if time apart goes too slow and time together goes too fast. When he doesn't have Peter, Tony can usually be found in Steve's apartment, and weirdly, it doesn't feel like an intrusion, it feels like Tony _belongs_.

Two hours before they’re supposed to meet for their third date, Steve’s phone vibrates, insistently scuttling across the counter. He grabs up the device and thumbs open the message.

 **From: Tony (17:41)** _I am so sorry_  
**From: Tony (17:41)** _I completely forgot this was my weekend with Peter_  
**From: Tony (17:42)** _Again, I’m sorry_

 **To: Tony (17:42)** _It’s okay, Tony. We can still hang out, watch some movies with him_  
**To: Tony (17:46)** _Unless you don’t want me to come over_  
**To: Tony (17:46)** _Because if you don’t, I won’t. And I promise I won’t be mad_

 **From: Tony (17:48)** _I do but I don’t… He’s sick, and I don’t want you to catch what he has._  
**From: Tony (17:48)** _But damn it I want to see you_

 **To: Tony (17:49)** _Can you come out into the hall?_

Steve meets Tony in the middle of the hallway, pulling him off to the side so that Peter doesn’t see them, and kisses him gently. “Hi. I’ve missed you.”

“You saw me this morning, you freak,” replies Tony, even as he stretches up to tug Steve back down into another kiss. “I missed you, too.”

“How’s Peter?”

“Sick, cranky, enough to make me rip my hair out.”

“Oh, no, don’t do that. I like your hair.”

“Of course you do, it’s amazing. Just like the rest of me.”

“And your humble personality, definitely a bonus.”

Tony steals Steve's laugh from his lips, and suddenly, Steve doesn't find any humour in the situation. He tugs Tony closer, tilting his head and parting his lips, losing himself in the sensation and taste and heady dizziness he gets from kissing Tony. Unfortunately, Tony pulls away and grimaces.

“I'd better get back. If he wakes up and I'm not there, it's liable to cause a meltdown.”

One more brush of their lips, and Tony's heading back into his apartment, closing the door behind him softly. Steve stares at the wood for a moment before making a decision. He yanks on his shoes, locks his door, and makes his way down the stairs, dialling a number as he goes. The air outside is humid, promises a rainy night. Steve spares a thought that he should have brought an umbrella, just in case, but he presses forward instead of turning back to get his from the living room closet. The man behind the counter waves when Steve steps into the diner three blocks away; he heard about this place after Sam and Natasha's first date. Natasha had merely said “It was decent”, which, for her, is extolling praises.

Once he's paid and has the bag of food in his hand, Steve walks back home quickly. Drops of rain have started falling sporadically by the time he turns the corner of his street, coming down more quickly as he reaches the door to the apartment building. He sets the food on the kitchen counter, goes to the bathroom to run a towel over his hair, and changes swiftly into a pair of worn-in sweats and a t-shirt stained with paint splatters. He grabs his sketchbook off the dresser, opens it to a blank page, getting to work.

Twenty minutes later, he knocks on Tony's door and waits, one arm holding tightly to the bag of food, his other hand clutching the sketchbook. Tony pulls the door open, and Steve winces at the sight of his rumpled shirt and suit pants, wild hair, and slight panic in his dark eyes as he attempts to pry Peter's arms from around his neck.

“Steve? What are you doing here? C’mon, Pete, loosen up a bit, you're strangling me here.”

“Wanna trade?”

Tony stares at Steve, brows furrowed. “What?”

“Take these, and I'll take him. You look like you're about to collapse from exhaustion, so let me help.”

Tony hesitates but eventually capitulates. Peter clings to his father for a moment, and Steve wonders if he's made a mistake, though Tony doesn't back down, just reassures the child that he's okay. Soon enough, Peter is in Steve's arms, and as if someone's cut his strings, he slumps against Steve's chest, sniffling pitifully. Tony heads further into the apartment, and Steve follows him to the kitchen. He takes his sketchbook from Tony's hand, setting it on the counter and flipping through the pages until he gets to the latest drawing. He holds it up for Peter's scrutiny.

“Wha’zat?”

“It's you, buddy, beating up the germs that are making you sick.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Steve hands the paper over to Tony, watching as the other man's shoulders relax and a small smile graces his lips. “What do you say I get you comfy on the couch with some cartoons while your daddy and I talk? Is that okay?”

Peter nods without speaking; Steve carries him into the living room, lowers him gently onto the couch, makes sure Piggly is tucked up next to him. _Doc McStuffins_ plays on the television, and Steve is grateful that Peter immediately settles in to watch it instead of being grumpy that he's been put down. In the kitchen, Tony has pulled out the large container of soup and two wax paper-wrapped burgers from the bag and is staring down at them like they hold the answers to the universe. He glances up at the sound of footsteps on the linoleum floor.

“You bought dinner. You bought and brought over soup for my sick kid and food for us, even after I cancelled tonight.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why?” whispers Tony, and Steve bites back a smile.

“Because even if this isn't a date, you two need to eat something, and chicken soup should be easy enough on his belly. Plus… I'm a selfish guy who wanted to spend time with you. Both of you.”

“God, you're perfect.”

And even though they're still in view of the living room and Peter could sit up at any moment, Tony advances on Steve and then they're kissing, hard and insistent. Steve inhales sharply at the impact, ignores the way Tony's teeth catch on his bottom lip forcefully. He lets Tony pin him against the counter, lets Tony take what he wants. Steve slips his hands around Tony's waist, his fingers pressing into the other man's lower back, holding him flush up against him.

“Thank you,” and God, Tony's voice is _wrecked_. “Thank you so much, Steve.”

“It wasn't a problem.”

“Hey, pip, you wanna try to eat some soup? Steve brought some soup for you.”

“Z’it got veg’ables?”

“Yeah, it has some carrots and celery, but they're cooked until they're soft,” Steve replies at Tony's shrug.

“Do I hafta eat the veg'ables?”

“You can pick them out, kiddo, they're chunks.”

“'Kay.”

Peter manages half a small bowl of soup before he slumps onto his side on the floor, spoon bouncing off the carpet a couple times before landing a few inches away. Steve clears away the bowl and burger wrappers while Tony carries his child to bed. When he comes back out, Steve's waiting on the couch, and Tony flops down next to him.

“I hate that damn school,” he mutters. “Damn cesspools of viruses is what they are.”

“C’mon, sit up, turn around, like that.”

“Oh, god, don't stop, please don't stop.”

Steve laughs softly as he presses his thumbs into a particularly knotted muscle in Tony's back. “I won't, promise. And Petey-bug will get better soon, this won't last forever.”

“Yeah? You know from experience?”

“Yup. I do. I was always sick as a kid. Seemed like every other week I was forced into bed rest.”

“Poor you, damn. I can't imagine that.”

“You mean to tell me you never got sick?”

“I did, just...never really listened when someone told me I needed to be resting.”

“You should've taken better care of yourself,” Steve murmurs before pressing his lips against the skin behind Tony's ear, relishing the way Tony shivers.

“I do just fine, thank you very much.”

“And I'm glad to hear that.”

A moan slips from Tony's lips as Steve nips at the curve of his neck, and Steve's hands slide around until they're resting on the flat of Tony's stomach. Tony melts into him, head tilting and baring his throat. Steve takes advantage, bites gently at the flesh. He can feel Tony's pulse under his lips, the rushing thump of blood through veins, and he drags his fingers across the waistband of Tony's pants. With a soft sigh, Tony twists his upper body in Steve's grip, his hand coming up to grip Steve's hair, dragging him into a filthy, demanding kiss. Steve's breath catches at the way Tony's tongue immediately fights for dominance, the way that Tony's ass is pressing against his groin, and he brings his hand to Tony's chest, fumbling with the buttons on Tony's shirt. He gets the first three undone before Tony jerks back.

“No, no, we can't, oh god, Peter's just in the other room, we can't.”

Feeling a lot like he's been doused in icy water, Steve shudders, swallows thickly. His hand spasms where it's resting against the seam of Tony's pants, and Tony whines softly at the pressure. But eventually, Steve manages to drag his hands away, off of the brunet's body, though it's the last thing he really wants to do. Tony exhales unsteadily and pulls away.

“You are...entirely too patient with me.”

“You're worth it,” whispers Steve, catching Tony's lips in a softer, gentler kiss. “I better go, I don't think I got enough willpower to be capable of not touchin’ ya again.”

“Yeah, my temptation is, uh, well, I'm very tempted to ask you to stay, but it'd be a bad idea.”

Steve awkwardly adjusts his pants before making his way to the door; he's halfway across the hall when he realises Tony is still in his doorway, watching him leave.

“Uh, is there any specific reason you're watchin’ me walk across a hallway that's barely ten feet wide?”

Tony chuckles. “Just wanted to make sure you got home all right.”

“Yeah, I can see why. It's such a long walk, and empty halls are well-known for being fraught with danger.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when he pushes his door open, takes a step, and almost instantly trips over the metal weatherstrip that runs under the door. His cheeks burn, and he ducks his head as Tony laughs behind him. When he turns around, it's to see that Tony isn't even trying to hide his amusement.

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, no, that was...perfect, thank you. A wonderful end to a wonderful evening.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

“Night, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve doesn't see much of Tony throughout the rest of the weekend, but he doesn't mind. Their relationship is still new, and besides, Peter needs his dad more. So he deals with seeing Tony in the ten minutes after Peter goes to sleep and text messages. It's good, it's _nice_. It's made even better by the fact that he realises he's never been this happy with someone else.

Sunday morning finds him visiting with his ma, helping her set up yet another bookcase for books that she probably won't ever get around to reading. He has fun, though. Between the laughing and joking and cooking together and the knowledge that he actually has someone in his life that he can wax poetic about, the hours he spends at Ma’s are peaceful, entertaining.

“You look happy, Stevie,” Ma says over lunch, and Steve ducks his head.

“I _am_ happy, Ma. Tony is...amazing, and he really makes me happier than I ever thought I could be.” He pauses. “Is this how you felt with Pop?”

“Oh, absolutely. Your da made me forget anything wrong. When we were together, it was like the world didn't exist, only us. I smiled and laughed far more than I'd ever done before, and when I cried for whatever reason, he was there to dry my cheeks, tell me it'll all be okay, and we would work through whatever the problem was. Together, he'd say, we can get through this as long as we're together.”

“I'm glad you had him, Ma. Tell me how you met again.”

“You haven't asked that since you were a wee one, Stevie.”

“Then I guess it's time I did.”

It's been years since he heard the story last, but he still remembers every word ー how they'd met shortly after Ma immigrated from Ireland, how Pop had saved her from falling off the pier as she was rushing down the boardwalk in search of a job, how he'd taken one look at her brilliant blue eyes and long blonde curls and asked her on a date right then and there. She knew instantly, she'd always said, that he was the man for her, and she never regretted moving away to a foreign country, away from her family and friends, because Joseph was her family now, too, and then along came Steve, and they were ecstatic that they were growing from two to three. His father started working longer hours, more jobs, to be able to afford their home and the cost of having a family, but “He never once neglected to spend time with us, no matter how late it was or how soon he had to flit off to his next shift, he loved you so very much, and it killed him to be away so many hours.”

Then he'd found a job in construction that allowed him to work only one job instead of three; it paid more, which was to be expected with building corporate buildings for the large companies. For nearly two years he worked hard, and though he was often gone before the sun came up, he was home before dinnertime, and Steve vaguely remembers the sound of his father's laughter and the way his large hands were calloused but gentle with love. His memory is sharper, though, when it comes to recalling his ma’s screaming as she got the news that there was an incident on a job site, that some safety equipment had failed, and they'd lost a couple men, Joseph included. The company in charge of the crew somehow managed to evade a settlement, forcing Sarah and Steve out of their home; his ma's income hadn't been enough to afford the two-bedroom house they'd lived in since before Steve's birth.

He leaves the apartment quietly after his ma falls asleep on the couch; he makes a mental reminder to call her in about an hour to wake her up. She'll move to her bed then, and he won't get yelled at for coddling her, though how calling her to wake her up is any different than waking her up while he's there, he's not sure.

Steve sends a quick goodnight text to Tony, crawls into bed, and goes to sleep with half-formed images of his father in his head.

 

 

 **From: Tony (09:43)** _Steve, darling, sweetest of sweethearts, how are you today?_

 **To: Tony (09:47)** _What's up?_

 **From: Tony (09:48)** _Pepper knows about us_  
**From: Tony (09:48)** _It just...kinda came out, and now she knows_  
**From: Tony (09:49)** _And she is demanding a double-date_  
**From: Tony (09:49)** _With us, obviously, and her and her boyfriend, which I didn't even know she had_  
**From: Tony (09:50)** _And you can say no, don't feel obligated_  
**From: Tony (09:51)** _I can make the appropriate excuses_

 **To: Tony (09:52)** _Calm down, Tony lol_  
**To: Tony (09:52)** _We can go, I don't have a problem with that. Besides, it'll be nice to meet her after all I've heard about her from you and Peter_

 **From: Tony (09:54)** _You sure?_

 **To: Tony (09:55)** _Yeah, absolutely sure._  
**To: Tony (09:55)** _Just let me know when and what the dress code is_

 **From: Tony (09:55)** _I will_  
**From: Tony (09:55)** _Thank you_

Steve chuckles at the kissy-face emoji attached to the end of the text and sends back four of the emojis and a heart-eyes one.

“Ugh, _emojis_? You're disgusting.”

“Shut up, Kate.”

She perches on the edge of his desk. “Seriously, you're too old to use emojis like that.”

“I'm literally only two years older than you.”

“Yes, but you're a lot less cool, so it's hella awkward that you're using emojis at your uncool, advanced age.”

“I hate you so much,” Steve announces, laughing as he locks his phone screen and sets the device on his desk. “What's up?”

“Okay, so, Pietro won't tell anyone, but he's having a hard time getting the pose for one of his characters right, and if I ask Clint to help, he'd be too embarrassed, since, ya know, for some damn reason, Clint's his role model. So can you help him?”

Steve debates his choices; if he helps Pietro, the kid's comic will be that much closer to being done, but he also runs the risk of Pietro being upset and-or humiliated. If he doesn't help, Pietro's dignity is intact, but Steve will feel guilty for not doing what he can. With a sigh, he shoves to his feet and makes his way across the room to stand beside Pietro.

“Hey, need help?” he asks in an undertone.

To his surprise, Pietro accepts assistance without complaint. There is some awkwardness when Pietro gets frustrated at disastrous attempt after disastrous attempt, but finally, he gets the pose right, it looks natural, and he laughs quietly at the success. Steve steps away without anything beyond clasping a hand to the kid’s shoulder. There’s a pleased little smile on his lips when Steve looks over, and Steve doesn’t blame Pietro for his pride. He deserves it.

His mailbox is full when he checks it, and Steve rifles through the stack as he walks up the stairs. He comes to a stop when he reaches the top. Tony is sitting on the welcome mat outside Steve’s door, his attention on the phone in his hands. Steve watches him, soaks in the sight for a moment, before he clears his throat. Tony jolts, his phone clattering to the floor, and when he realises it's just Steve, he sends a flat, unamused look before climbing to his feet.

“So, Pep let me come home early today, which was unexpected, but then she told me she wanted us to go to dinner _tonight_ , and since she didn't tell me until right before we were leaving, which was just cruel of her, I figured I'd wait here and tell you when you got home, so hi, welcome home, get changed, 'cause we gotta go.”

“Tony, calm down. Take a breath. What time did Pepper say we were meeting?”

“Six.”

“And how far away is it?”

“Not too far, maybe twenty minutes. Including traffic.”

“Okay. Well, it's barely past five o'clock now, so as long as we leave by five-thirty, maybe five-forty, we’ll get there in time.” Steve strokes a thumb across Tony's cheek. “You're really nervous about this, aren't you?”

Tony scoffs but doesn't move away from Steve's touch. “Of course not, why would I be? I mean, it's just the mother of my child meeting my boyfriend, what's to be nervous about?”

“Tony… it'll be fine, I promise. I'm gonna go get changed. Anything special I should wear?”

Instead of answering, Tony grabs Steve's keys from his hand and unlocks the door, heading straight for the bedroom. Steve drops his mail onto the coffee table, follows close behind. His bed is already covered in clothes even though Tony's not been in the room for more than three minutes. Steve stays silent as Tony holds up pants and shirts, discards one or the other, and repeats the pattern with different clothing items. Finally, Tony seems to be done; he passes over a pair of charcoal-grey trousers, a white button-down that Steve forgot he even owns, and a long-sleeved navy cable knit sweater. Steve waits, but Tony continues to stand there, so with a mental shrug, he peels off the t-shirt he wore to work, leaving the A-line tank top, and slips the button-down shirt on. Tony's fingers are deft, methodical, as he unbuttons Steve's pants and yanks them down. The look of abject concentration on his face makes it clear that he isn't thinking about anything sexual, which makes it easier for Steve to keep his mind off of the fact that Tony is so close, so close, and effectively stripping him. He stumbles as he lifts one foot and slides it into the leg of the slacks, even as he tugs the sweater over his head.

Once he's dressed, Steve stands still as Tony rolls the sleeves of the shirt and sweater up to his elbows, and adjusts the collar of the button-down so that it lays loose against the wool of the sweater. Steve is finally given the okay to go to the bathroom; he quickly uses the toilet, washes his hands and face, and brushes his teeth, yelping when Tony barges in. He accepts his fate when Tony shoves his hands under the tap and then runs wet hands through Steve's hair, forces it to stay flat instead of poking up in the back like it usually does from hours spent with his head in his hand or combing fingers through his hair in frustration.

“There, perfect, you look perfect, Pepper's going to be jealous of me.”

“I feel like your own personal Ken doll, here for you to dress up at your every whim,” Steve says with a slight quirk of his lips.

“Trust me, I'll be much more enthusiastic about taking it all off later.”

Steve kisses away the lascivious smirk that Tony is sending him. “We better go if we don't wanna be late.”

“Yes, exactly, let's go.”

“So who's watching Peter?” asks Steve as they head to the parking garage.

“Uh, most likely Nadia, Pepper's niece. She's visiting on break from college, and Pete just loves her. She's good with him.”

The restaurant that Tony drives them to is a bit more upscale than Steve is used to, but that nervousness is overshadowed by his anxiousness about meeting Pepper. Tony seems to see his emotions on his face since he reaches over the console once the car is parked and brings Steve's hand to his lips. Steve exhales shakily, squeezes Tony's hand gently, and nods.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, Iー I think so.”

Tony's lips twitch, but he releases Steve's hand and pushes open his door. Steve follows suit, staying close to Tony as they cross the parking lot. His heart is racing in his chest, and he knows his palms are clammy, but he doesn't slow down. He's never been one to back away from any sort of challenge, and meeting his partner's ex who is also the mother of said partner's child? Definitely a challenge, even if no one says it is. If Pepper doesn't approve of Steve, she can always tell Tony, ask Tony to leave Steve or keep Steve away from Peter. Hell, she can always keep Peter away from his dad, if Tony decides he doesn't want to break up with Steve. He's not sure that she actually would, but the possibility is still there, and Steve can't stand the thought of not having Tony or Peter in his life any more.

He barely sees when Tony holds the door open, beckons him inside, or when the maître d’ greets them. It's only because of Tony's hand on his lower back that Steve even moves in the right direction; the warm pressure through his shirts is reassuring, comforting, and his breathing slowly becomes less restricted. Steve smiles at Tony, a small thing, but Tony understands, his fingers pressing slightly harder in response. Steve turns back toward the table that they're guided to and immediately bursts out into surprised laughter.

Coulson’s eyebrows raise toward his hairline, and he chuckles along with Steve. The gorgeous woman sitting next to him looks between the two as if they'd lost their minds, and Tony leans closer to Steve, nudging him in the side with a carefully-placed elbow.

“Wanna share with the class, Steven?”

“Uh, Phil, it's great to see you. Again.”

“Yes, because an hour between visits is too long.” Coulson grins. “It's great to see you, too, Tony.”

Pepper clears her throat quietly, and Coulson's head swivels toward her instinctively. “You two...know each other, then?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. Steve and I work together, in a way.”

“I'm a comic book writer at SHIELD,” explains Steve as he lets Tony nudge him into one of the empty chairs.

“Oh, that's wonderful. Oh! You're the Steve Rogers who wrote the _Iron Man_ comics! Peter loves those!”

“Yeah, those are my favourite to write and draw. Well, followed very closely by the _Spiderman_ ones.”

“What gave you the idea for Spiderman?” Pepper asks, taking a sip of her wine.

“Uh, actually, Peter did. He drew me a picture when I was watching him, and it was Spiderman, and he said I could use it for my comics, which is why Spiderman’s other identity is Peter Parker.”

Pepper's eyes shine brightly under the dim lighting, and Tony turns in his chair to give Steve an assessing look. Steve shifts awkwardly, uncomfortable with the sudden scrutiny. Coulson, at least, turns his gaze away from Steve to give the man some semblance of privacy in the silence that's settled over them. Eventually, Tony clears his throat and focuses on Coulson, asking information about what he does and how he and Pepper had met. Steve knows the story ー Coulson has told him all about the deep conversation he had with the woman who attended one of the gallery showings and even purchased a large shot of Bucky and Sam holding Natasha in the air, her arms tangled in vivid red ribbons dangling from the ceiling just out of shot, each of her legs being cradled almost lovingly by the men's hands. It's one of Steve's favourite pieces; it shows off the strength in both Sam and Bucky's bodies, the tightly coiled musculature of Natasha's slender build, and the gleaming, sleek metal of Bucky's prosthetic. It isn't until Pepper says something about how beautiful it is to see Stark technology on an actual human, that Steve realises just how many chances he's had to meet Tony, but all it took, in the end, was Tony needing a last-minute babysitter that brought them together.

He sets a hand on Tony's knee under the table, grateful that this is his life.

… … … … 

Steve rolls over in bed and stares at Tony lying next to him; light from the street lamp filters through the blinds, illuminates his face, still and relaxed in sleep, in thin bars of soft orange glow. The heat kicks on, blowing warm air through the room, and Steve shivers at the contrast on his bare skin. He lifts his arm when Tony shuffles closer, presses a kiss to the other man's forehead, and grins tiredly at the snuffling sound that Tony makes. Pulling the blankets up further over their bodies, he shifts until he's more comfortable with Tony tight against him and falls asleep to the gentle breaths puffing against his chest and the solid heat of his partner.

… …

Bucky is standing in the kitchen when Steve makes his way, stretching out the kinks in his back, down the hall. He lifts his hand in a small wave, leans across his best friend to flip the coffeemaker on, and lets himself slump against the counter. Bucky’s hand is familiar when it lands on Steve's shoulder, squeezing.

“Long night, punk?”

“Yeah, had a double-date with Peter's mom and her boyfriend last night. Didn't get home until about eleven-thirty.”

“And what time didja get to sleep?” asks Bucky with a not-so-subtle wink, voice laden with implication.

“That's my business.” Steve flashes a smirk but gives in, replying with, “Fell asleep 'bout two or so.”

Bucky crows with laughter, doubling over as he loses his breath. Finally, he straightens and manages to say through his chuckles, “Was it worth it? 'Cause you know Coulson and everybody's gonna ask questions.”

“Oh, don't mention Coulson, please. Hand me a mug, wouldja?”

“What's wrong with Coulson?” Bucky asks as he pulls open the cupboard.

Steve opens his mouth to speak but doesn't get the chance to respond. He's interrupted by the sound of shuffling feet down the hallway, a solid thump against the wall, more slip-slide footsteps, then the sight of Tony appearing in the doorway, blearily staring around the kitchen. Bucky pauses, questions in his eyes, then sets another mug on the counter. Steve pours coffee into one, holds it out toward Tony who gives a sleepy smile and makes grabby hands. There's a slight fumble as the mug transfers hands, but Tony manages to keep it upright without spilling any of the hot liquid. Steve twitches, turns back to the counter, when Tony lets out a filthy, low moan at the first sip. Steve can feel his ears and cheeks burning up, his body wanting to react to the sound that he heard so many times just a few hours ago.

“Good morning,” says Bucky with a grin, and Tony drags his gaze up from the coffee to stare at the other man in silence for a few seconds.

“Hi. You're Steve's friend, uh, Bucky, right?, right, Bucky, hi, morning.”

“Hi. You must be Tony. Stevie's told me lots 'bout ya.”

“Yeah? Hopefully all good, except it's me, so it probably isn't all good, I'm not all good or, ya know, worthy of being called all good, so anyway, hope he hasn't said too much embarrassing stuff about me.”

“Nothing embarrassin’, promise. If anything, I got all the embarrassin' stories to tell you about this little punk.”

“Buck, no, not happenin’.”

Bucky’s face twists up but he lets it drop. “All right, well, I only came by to give you a ride to work ー it's rainin’ somethin’ fierce out there today, and ya know buses don't stop close enough to work, but since Tony's already here, you can find a different way.”

“Jerk,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “Fine, get outta here. I'll be there in a bit.”

“See ya 'round, Tony. Bye, punk.”

Steve closes his eyes as the front door closes. “Sorry 'bout that, didn't expect him to show up this morning.”

“What's wrong, embarrassed that he caught me coming out of your room?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Okay,” Tony says slowly, leaning back a bit from the force of Steve's words. “Okay, not embarrassed, got it. Then what's the problem?”

“He's...him. He's a lot to handle on a good day, even worse when you're not caffeinated properly.”

“Eh, I like to think I held my own.”

“You did,” murmurs Steve as he pulls Tony into a tight embrace, holding him close.

“But? I feel like there’s a ‘but’ here, so but?”

“But you're wearin’ my underthings. And nothin’ else.”

“Well, I'd had a plan,” Tony starts; his breath hitches when Steve kisses the soft skin below his jaw.

“A plan?”

“A, a really good plan, one that I think you'd be on board with.”

“Tell me more 'bout this plan.”

“Or I can show you?”

Tony tugs away out of Steve's grip with a mischievous grin. He finishes his coffee, sets the mug on the counter, and turns toward the hall. Steve doesn't get much of a warning before Tony's shoving the boxer-briefs down and stepping out of them, walking out of the kitchen completely naked, his ass swaying just a bit as he goes. Steve has never been one to back down from a challenge, and though Tony isn't presenting much of one, Steve refuses to let this so-called challenge slide without grasping at the opportunity with both hands.

He immediately gives chase, and Tony laughs breathlessly when Steve catches up to him just inside the bedroom.

“You're late,” Clint announces in singsong as soon as Steve enters the office.

“And mighty dishevelled,” adds Natasha from where she's sitting on the edge of Steve's desk. “Bucky said you were getting a ride to work. Didn't know he meant a ride _before_ work, too.”

Steve feels his cheeks flaming, but he doesn't give her the dignity of a response. He merely unloads his work, grabs his pen, and gets busy. Her laughter is silent, unlike everyone else's comments and taunting. She runs her fingers over his hair before hopping off his desk and sauntering away. He ignores the others as he gets busy plotting out the next page in his comic, a task made much more difficult by thoughts of Tony.

… … … … 

“Hey, Tony?”

Tony pokes his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush dangling from his mouth. “Wha?”

“Uh, Sam and Nat are having a cookout at their place Saturday, and they invited me.”

“'kay?”

He disappears from the doorway, so Steve speaks louder over the rush of water from the sink.“Nat said if I don't at least ask you to go, she’ll never speak to me again.” Steve shrugs. “If you don't wanna, don't feel like ya gotta force yourself.”

“Am I going to regret agreeing?”

“I don't think so, but I've also known them for years, and I regret every single interaction I have with 'em.”

Tony chuckles, exiting the bathroom and crossing the bedroom; Steve lets Tony lean up against his back, reaches up to wrap a hand around Tony's wrist. “Steve, darling, that's not a glowing recommendation, just so you know.”

“I regret it for the right reasons?”

“Still not helpful.”

“I can tell 'em no if you want me to.”

“No, no. Um, wait, this weekend’s my weekend with Peter.”

Steve turns his head to kiss the corner of Tony's mouth before he slumps over until his head hits his pillow; Tony follows immediately after, and Steve pulls him in closer. Tony rests his chin on Steve's chest and stares up at the blond.

“Peter is more than welcome, I know everyone is gonna love him, but if you'd rather not go, then I can just explain that it ain't the best time. Nobody is gonna be mad.”

“I know.” Tony sighs. “I don’t know. Pete’s… I don’t want to say he’s a secret, but he kind of is. You know? I’ve done everything I can to keep him out of the spotlight, make sure he’s not on anyone’s radar. And, I trust you, and I even trust Bucky, since Peter’s face isn’t plastered all over the gossip rags even after almost six months of us knowing each other, and I know you tell him everything, but…”

“I get it. It’s a lot to risk. You don’t have to agree if you don’t want to, Tony, nobody’s gonna force you,” Steve reassures him with a low voice.

“I know, I know. I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”

Steve tugs Tony closer, up until they can kiss easily. “That’s all I ask, doll.”

Somehow, Peter finds out about the cookout and is beyond excited. Steve thinks that maybe Pepper was told by Tony ー they are still close, after all ー and let it slip to their child, and his suspicions are confirmed when she and Happy drop Peter off that Friday. As soon as Tony has his son in the other room, Pepper gives Steve a smile, moves around the kitchen like it’s not unusual for her to rummage around her ex’s apartment. She manages to find a box of tea in the back of a cupboard, sniffing surreptitiously at it before turning it over to check the Best By date; deeming it acceptable, she fills a mug with hot water from the tap and sets a bag in the cup.

“You did a good thing, inviting Tony out to the cookout. And Peter. Tony would never admit it, but he’s trying to not just...thrust Peter into your life too quickly.”

“Yes, because leaving him on my doorstep with a threat of killing me if something happened to him wasn’t thrusting him into my life at all,” he deadpans.

Pepper laughs softly. “Yes, well, no one’s ever claimed that Tony thinks things through completely.” She gives him a small smile. “Thank you for everything you've done, for both of them. I don't think they'd be doing this well if it weren't for you.”

“Of course. They… they mean a lot to me.”

“And you mean so much to them. Tony and Peter will be there. At the cookout, I mean.”

“No offence, but I'd rather hear that from Tony.”

“You'll hear it from Peter first.”

“I don't expect anything different,” he replies, and she snorts inelegantly, clapping a hand over her mouth as she dissolves into giggles.

Saturday morning dawns bright and clear. Or, rather, as clear as Brooklyn ever gets. It's cool outside, the first fingers of autumn struggling to break through the lingering haze and heat that summer has wrapped the city in. Steve remains where he is, sprawled across the bed, as the sunshine peeks through the blinds. Cars and birds sing their daily songs, machinery and nature blending into a cacophony of sounds that shouldn't work but somehow do; he only moves when someone knocks on the front door. He knows immediately that it isn't Tony ー Tony usually just barges in, even on weekends he has Peter ー which means it can only be the child. A grin splits his face, and he clambers out of bed to pull a pair of sweats on over his boxer-briefs.

Peter grins toothily up at him when Steve pulls the door open. “Hi! Today's the cookout, are you excited, because I am, I get to meet your friends and eat lots of food!”

“C'mon in, Petey-bug. Where's your dad?”

“Daddy's in the bathroom. He was s'posed to make me brek-fist, but he's been in the shower a _long time_.”

“He has?”

“Yeah. A _long_ time, Steve, can I have cereal?”

“How about we go back over there, so he doesn't worry if he doesn't see you in the apartment any more? We can have cereal there.”

“Okay!”

Tony emerges from the bathroom ten minutes later, stumbling to a stop when he sees Steve and Peter sitting at the dining table. Peter slurps another spoonful of milk and sugary cereal before smiling widely.

“Hi, Daddy!”

“Why… Steve?”

“He said you were taking a long time in the shower, and he wanted food now.”

“Uh, okay. Wait. Petey, we've been through this. No going outside of the apartment unless I give you permission.”

“I just went 'crosst the hall. Straight to Steve's.”

“Yes, I get that, but, buddy, come on. Steve is outside of the apartment.”

“He wouldn’t be outside the ‘partment if you lived together,” Peter retorts mulishly and shoves another bite into his mouth, his expression petulant in the face of his father’s exasperation. “ _And_ I wouldn’t have to wait for food in the morning.”

Steve struggles to stifle his laughter at the defiance but a short glare from Tony certainly helps. He clears his throat and finishes off his bowl of Cap’n Crunch; Peter pushes away from the table and runs through the living room and down the hall to his bedroom. Tony stares after his son, sighs and walks to Steve’s side. Steve turns automatically, letting Tony lean against him. Tony’s skin is cool and still slightly damp, and Steve buries his nose into the other man’s hair.

“Cold shower?”

“The coldest.” Tony burrows closer. “I swear he was asleep when I got in.”

“I believe it. It’s like he’s got a switch that just...flips, and he’s up and at ‘em with no sign of having slept at all.”

“He’s a gremlin. A rotten one.”

“Did you get him wet or feed him after midnight?”

“He’s, he’s not a fucking Mogwai, Steven.”

“You’re the one who called him a gremlin!” Steve protests, laughing at Tony’s expression. He presses a kiss to Tony’s nose. “Okay, okay, so Peter’s not Gizmo. Gottit.”

“I hate you, so much.”

“Never.”

“Steeeeeeeeeve!”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, buddy?”

“I’m...kinda stuck.”

“I gotta see this,” announces Tony, and he follows closely behind as Steve goes to Peter’s rescue; and if Tony ends up with a photo on his phone of Steve disentangling the child from the knobs on the dresser drawers, it's only right that Steve get a copy of that picture, as well.

… …

Natasha is the first to notice the trio when they step out onto the back patio of Sam’s house. She hands her beer off to Clint before making her way across the yard; Peter's grip tightens on Steve's hand the closer she gets, and Steve squeezes back gently, smiling down at the child. Natasha crouches down until she's at his height.

“Hey, there. You must be Peter.” She grins when all he does is nod hesitantly. “Well, Steve here talks a lot about you, says you're super-smart and an amazing artist. Wanna meet some other artists?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Clint, Kate, and Pietro make comic books, just like Steve does.”

“Can I, Daddy?”

“Go ahead, pip, but remember the rules.”

“I will, I will! Holy guac'moly, is that Miss Wanda?”

Natasha takes Peter by the hand and leads him away. Tony stares after his son, his lips curved up at the corners. Steve feels less apprehensive about the situation. He knows that his friends will accept Tony and Peter into the group without hesitation, but Tony has a prickly exterior that makes it hard for people to get close. Steve understands why ー he doesn't find Tony unreasonable for having his guard up, but he's been afraid that Tony wouldn't let himself be brought into the dynamics without fuss. But here he is, standing at Steve's side, watching as his child flits from person to person and demands attention without much effort at all. He tugs Tony closer, wraps an arm around his waist, and presses a kiss to his temple once Peter's engrossed in listening to Thor wax poetic about the wonders of Spiderman. Tony smiles up at Steve but doesn't pull away.

Peter manages to eat three and a half hot dogs, two handfuls of potato chips, and one-third of a large slice of cake before he starts looking a little nauseous. Steve takes the plate away from the child, handing him his cup of Sprite, and finishes off the chocolate dessert as Peter stares petulantly. Tony keeps his focus on Sam as they talk, even as Tony reaches for Steve's fork and steals the last bite of cake. The action causes Peter to giggle; he climbs out of the chair and rounds the table, clambers up onto Steve's lap. His eyes are dropping as he leans into Steve, and Steve runs his fingers through dark, sweat-damp curls, gently untangling the knots that have formed after hours of running around. It's almost anticlimactic the way Peter falls asleep with his cheek pressed against Steve's chest, mouth dropped open slightly. His soft snores catch his father's attention, and Tony stops speaking mid-sentence. Steve waves Tony's concern off, murmuring a quick assurance that he can handle this. And he can, and he does, but he's still thankful when Tony starts saying goodbye after another twenty minutes. Steve passes Peter off to Tony and stands, heading for the bathroom. Once he's done his business and washed his hands, he finds Tony standing by the door. The expression on his face as he rests his cheek on Peter's hair, eyes closed and his face relaxed, makes Steve's heart clench in his chest. He realises he's in far too deep to ever consider backing out now. Snapping a quick photo with his phone, he comes to a stop at Tony's side and lays a hand against Tony's lower back.

“You ready?”

The drive back to their apartment building is comfortably silent; Tony keeps his hand in Steve's the entire time, and Steve keeps hold of the feeling deep in his chest, the one that tells him this is _it_. They part in the hallway, sharing a soft kiss over Peter's head, and Steve watches as Tony disappears behind his door before going into his own flat. He doesn't bother turning on lights, just toes out of his shoes and makes his way down the dark hall, flopping onto his cold sheets. He can't fight the smile that forces its way onto his face, so he doesn't even try. He just falls asleep feeling warm down to his bones.

… … … …

Steve pulls the blanket up under Peter's chin and pokes the child's nose gently; Peter's giggles bring a smile to Steve's face, and he makes sure that both Blue and Piggly are in the bed. He stares down at the child ー this small, fragile child that he's come to love harder, more fiercely, than he's ever loved someone who isn't related to him ー and brushes a curl from Peter's face.

“Want your sunshine song?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Steve?”

“Yeah, Petey-bug?”

“I think you and Daddy should get married.”

Steve chokes on air, coughing until he can breathe properly again. Heart still racing in his chest, he asks, “Why's that?”

“Because,” Peter drawls as he stares at Steve like he's dumb, “if you marry Daddy, you'll be my daddy, too, and I want you to be my daddy just like Daddy's my daddy, and if Mommy marries Mr Phil, then I'll have _three_ daddies, and that would be _so cool_.”

“You want me to marry your daddy and your mommy to marry Mister Phil, just so you can have three daddies?” Steve clarifies, struggles not to laugh; he evidently doesn’t do a good job, because Peter glares up at him and blows out a breath.

“Well, no, not really. I want you and Mr Phil to be my other daddies because I love you and you love me.”

That melts Steve's heart. All humour he feels drains away rapidly, and he inhales shakily, leaning down to press a kiss to Peter's forehead. His throat is tight, aching. With a soft sigh, Steve holds onto the kid's hand, so tiny in his own.

“Petey-bug, I am always going to love you, even if I don't marry your daddy. Always.”

“But why don't you wanna marry my daddy? Don't you love him? A'cuz I saw you and Daddy kissin’ last time I was here, and Mommy says if you kiss someone, that means you love 'em.”

“This...isn't somethin’ I'm comfortable discussing right now. So get some sleep, okay? Your daddy and mommy will call you in the morning to talk to you.”

“Okay, Steve. Night. I love you.”

“Goodnight, Peter.”

Steve stands in the doorway to Peter's room, watching as Peter slowly drifts off; once the child lets out a shaky breath, Steve steps out of the room, pulling the door closed slightly behind him, and makes his way to the living room. Peter's toys are strewn all over the floor; Steve really should have asked Peter to clean up before bed. It's too late now, so he sighs and gets to work. The toys go in the basket by the hallway, books back on the shelves, and colouring supplies in the drawer of the entertainment centre. After everything is cleaned up, including the few dishes from dinner, Steve sprawls out on the couch.

He wants to go lie down in Tony's bed, to wrap himself in blankets that smell like Tony, just so he feels less lonely, but he can't. Peter might wake up, and the double-date had ended with Pepper, Phil, Tony, and Steve coming to an agreement of not flaunting their respective relationships quite yet. So Steve is relegated to the couch until further notice. Which is… it's fine, it really is. But the cushions don't hold the scent of Tony's cologne and body wash. He sighs, pulling out his phone.

 **To: Tony (19:06)** _I miss you. :( Peter's all right. He ate all his vegetables at dinner, took a bath, and went to bed with no fussing._  
**To: Tony (19:06)** _Are you busy?_

Thirty seconds later, his phone vibrates and Tony's smile fills the screen. Steve swipes to answer the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hey, you.”

“I am not busy, I am never too busy for you, I miss you, too. How's everything going?”

“It's going great, actually. Like I said, Peter's been wonderful. He says he can't wait for you to come home.” Steve exhales, heavy and longing. “I just… I just wanted to hear your voice?”

“Steve? Are you okay?” Tony's voice is so full of concern, it causes a lump to form on Steve's throat.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I promise. I, uh, I love you.”

There's a soft burst of static then silence. Steve waits for the length of a heartbeat before pulling the phone away. _02:29_ flashes on the screen under Tony's name. The call has been disconnected. Something in his chest clenches tight; he hadn't meant to make Tony mad, but evidently, he has. He breathes unsteadily, tries to stem the tears that burn in his eyes. Hands shaking violently, he plugs the charger into his phone, lets the device fall to the floor, and stares at the ceiling as he does his best to ignore that he's probably messed everything up.

Morning comes with the pattering of feet on the floor and hazy sunlight on his face. Steve grunts when forty pounds of kid lands on his spine. He turns to glance over his shoulders and sees a smiling Peter; he can’t help but grin back.

“Hey, buddy, you ready for breakfast?”

“Uh huh, can I have berry cereal?”

“Of course.” Steve pauses. “Petey-bug, ya gotta get off me if you want me to get your berry cereal.”

This gets Peter down. And a knee to the kidney in the middle of the scrambling. Steve winces but pushes to his feet and stretches out the kinks in his back. The notification light on his phone is blinking, so he bends to scoop it up as he heads into the kitchen. Peter is bouncing on the balls of his feet by the counter, staring wide-eyed up at the box of Cap’n Crunch sitting on top of the fridge. Once Steve has poured the cereal into a bowl, added milk, and handed Peter a spoon, he sits in one of the dining chairs and checks his notifications.

**_4 missed calls. 4 voicemails._ **

He presses the voicemail icon and brings the phone up to his ear.

_First unheard message from 7:30 pm._

“Shit, I am so sorry.” Tony sighs, barely audible over the sound of background conversations and traffic. “I’m sorry, this building has a security system that jams calls, prevents any outside contact, ya know?, and all I did was take a step back because ー well, it doesn’t matter why, but I did, then I was in the radius of this goddamn system, and oh, god, I’m sorry. Please, please call me back when you get this.”

_Next unheard message from 8:30 pm._

“So it’s been an hour, and, really, I should be commended for the fact that I haven’t blown up your phone in my panic, because Steve? I’m panicking really fucking bad right now. Just… please call me? I really, really don’t want to have fucked this all up. Please tell me this isn’t over.”

_Next unheard message from 12:41 am._

“Okay, it’s now been… three and a half hours, and I’ve spent the last two of those in a meeting, or I’d have called sooner. Anyway. You’re probably asleep right now since it’s, what, midnight there? God, time zones fucking suck. I’m going to assume that’s why you haven’t called back, because any other possible explanation is just… yeah, it’s painful to even consider, so I won’t give those possibilities a chance to root themselves into my brain. Look, Pep’s yelling at me, well, not really, but she is doing that thing with her eyes that says she’d be yelling at me if she wasn’t so much of a composed badass. I, uh, I’ll call you later.”

_Next unheard message from 1:59 am._

“Okay, Pepper is absolutely going to kill me. I just walked out of the meeting, yes, _another_ meeting, back to back, then there’s a walkthrough of a potential factory, but I just had ー oh, shit, she’s coming, I gotta go, heel-to-head imminent. But Steve… I love you, too, and I hate that I’m saying this to your voicemail, but I do. I love you. Call me later?”

When Steve tries calling back, there’s no answer; Tony’s either busy with work or sleeping. Steve leaves a voicemail that simply says “Got your calls. Sorry, I was sleepin’. Call me back when you get the chance.” He sets his phone down and lets himself focus on helping Peter get dressed and ready for school. He drops Peter off at school and goes to work, but he can't concentrate. His thoughts are scrambling in circles ー Tony said he loves Steve, he loves Steve, but is he only saying that because Steve said it first? Or does he mean it? The others appear to notice that Steve isn't himself today, and they show uncharacteristic consideration and leave him alone.

Thankfully, Tony and Pepper come back from their overseas business trip shortly after dawn on Saturday morning. Steve is woken up by someone unlocking the front door; he rolls off the couch and stands at attention, hands curled into loose fists at his side, as Happy enters the apartment. Steve slumps. He's not _un_ happy to see the man, but… he wishes it was Tony instead. Happy grins, as much as he ever had in the time Steve has known him.

“Heya, Steve. Boss sent me over to get Peter.”

“Oh? Oh. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll go wake him up and get him ready to go.”

Peter whines when Steve shakes him awake, but his sleepiness disappears when he's told that Happy is here to take him to his mom's. The child scrabbles his way out of his blankets ー and really, how can such a small child make such a mess of the bedsheets? ー and hurries out of the room. Steve closes his eyes, just for a moment, when he hears the delighted shriek of Happy's name, then he stands and heads to the dresser. Once he has a pair of jeans and a t-shirt pulled out, he sets them on the rocking chair in the corner.

His own apartment is suffocating and stiflingly silent when Steve opens the door. He's not spent much time here over the last week, only coming over to grab a change of clothes and going back to Tony's. He makes his way down the short hall to the bathroom; his back aches from sleeping on a couch every night, and he is much more exhausted than he has ever been in the past few years.

The shower he takes is short, barely enough time for the water to warm up to the temperature he usually likes it at. Steve doesn't bother dressing once he's dried his body ー he just climbs unsteadily into bed, tugs the comforter up over his shoulders, and falls asleep almost immediately.

Steve is roused from his slump on the sofa late the next afternoon by his front door opening. He turns his gaze away from the television set, and Tony grins as he closes the door behind him. Steve feels his lips move, twist, form into a smile on their own; he opens his arms, letting Tony collapse onto the couch next to him, and pulls the other man close. Neither man speaks for a few minutes. Steve is content enough to bask in the solid warmth that Tony provides.

“Missed you,” he whispers after a moment, and Tony shuffles impossibly closer.

“Missed you, too.” Tony stretches up for a kiss, one that Steve willingly gives. “Sorry, Pep wanted us to be able to spend time with Pete after being gone for so long without either her or me having to wait.”

“Don't apologise, it's okay. I understand.”

“Because you're perfect. She wants us to go out tonight.”

“You and me?”

“Yes, and her and Phil.”

“Sounds good to me. But… can we just stay like this for a bit? I, uh, I've missed being able to hold you.”

“Of course.”

And if Tony's voice is softer than usual, Steve isn't going to mention it. He presses his lips to Tony's hair, breathes in the scent that only Tony manages to have. The television plays softly in the background, largely ignored but still going in hopes of recapturing its audience. Steve dozes off and on as he holds Tony, quick little naps that are interrupted every time the other man shifts even a little. But Tony doesn't get up, so Steve doesn't let go.

It isn't until an incessant beeping sounds in the room, louder than _Matlock_ , that Steve releases Tony and stretches out the kinks in his back. Tony promises to be back as soon as he can before leaving, heading across the hall to change for dinner. Steve dresses quickly ー a pair of dark jeans and a pale blue V-neck under a black button-down that he leaves unbuttoned. He's not sure how the shirt got into his closet, but if he had to hazard a guess, he'd say it was Tony's doing. He's pulling on his shoes at the dining table when Tony ambles into the kitchen.

With a gentle smile, Tony leans down to press a kiss to Steve's lips. “Ready to go?”

“Yessir.”

Pepper and Phil are just heading through the doors of May's by the time Tony parks the car in the lot. Phil sees them first, gestures for Pepper to wait; they stand just inside the entryway so that Tony and Steve can catch up. Once seated, Darcy bounces over with a wide grin. She makes small talk while Steve and Phil skim the menus, but Steve is distracted by the way Tony's foot nudges his ankle, wraps around and remains there. It's such a subtle thing, not really worthy of the break in Steve's concentration, but his cheeks warm at the simple contact. He forces his gaze to stay on the list of meals, even as he hears Pepper giggle softly across the table. He finally orders the first thing that sounds decent, though he can barely hear himself as he speaks.

“So, Steve,” says Pepper once Darcy has bounced away to the kitchen area, “Peter behaved well for you?”

“Yeah, he was great. There weren't any problems at all. Thank you for letting me watch him all week.”

“No, thank _you_ for watching him. Most people wouldn't be comfortable doing that, especially when their partner is still close friends with the mother.”

“I'm… I'm glad you and Tony are still friends,” he admits, smiling at the way Tony's fingers close around his wrist. “I don't think Peter would be as well-adjusted if you weren't. He’s a great kid, smart as Hell, but if you and Tony weren’t so close, I doubt he’d be so confident.”

Pepper smiles, a soft curl to her scarlet lips. “Well, whatever you’re doing with him, keep it up. He talks about you all the time. He absolutely loves you.”

“Yeah, uh, about that…”

This catches Tony’s full attention, and he sits up in his seat and stares at Steve. Pepper’s eyes narrow, and Steve struggles to not squirm in the booth. He takes a steadying breath and explains what Peter said the other night; the more he talks, the more Tony vibrates next to him. Steve glances over and tries to refrain from rolling his eyes when he sees that Tony is struggling to not laugh. Phil, on the other hand, has no such compunction, though, thankfully, he keeps his laughter quiet. Pepper covers her mouth and coughs daintily, her blue eyes shimmering. Darcy eases plates onto the table silently and leaves them alone in their mirth.

“I’m so sorry, Steve, I swear that I’m not laughing at you,” she manages. “I’m _not_. I just… I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Neither was I! He completely blindsided me with it.”

“Wait, was that the night that we, uh, talked?” Tony asks as he scrubs at his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Is that…?”

“No, it had nothing to do with what we talked about. I promise.”

Pepper cocks her head, staring between the two men across from her. To her credit, she doesn’t act on the curiosity in her eyes, instead steering the conversation back to Peter. “What did you tell him?”

“I, um, I told him I wasn’t comfortable havin’ that discussion. I figured I shouldn’t say anythin’ else until I talked to you and Tony.”

“I think,” starts Pepper, her hands folding on the table in front of her, her slow exhale ruffling her bangs, “I think it’s time to tell Peter. I mean, he obviously knows _something_ is going on, and, well, he deserves to know, right?”

Steve isn’t sure what he had been expecting, but there is very little fanfare as they come to an agreement of acting like couples in front of Peter. Phil is the one who comes up with the stipulation that during one parent’s time with Peter, significant others cannot spend the night. His reasoning makes sense: That’s far too much to be lumping on the child, especially immediately after informing him of the relationship changes. Pepper smiles at the three men sitting at the table.

“You two are so wonderful,” she announces, looking at Steve then Phil. “You really are. Tony and I, we were worried about dating again, but… I’m really glad that we met you two.”

“Again?” says Steve quietly, and he regrets asking at the way her smile dims and her eyes grow sadder; before he can tell her to forget the question, she inhales steadily and starts talking.

“Oh. Yes. There was...someone shortly after Tony and I broke up. It was, it was great for about a year, and then he decided a kid wasn’t in his plans. Evidently, he felt he wasn’t cut out to be dating a CEO who was busy with a multinational company to run and mothering a child fathered by Tony. It was an ugly breakup, a long time coming, really, and Peter took it incredibly hard. He was okay, for the most part, when Tony and I separated, because he still sees Tony regularly, but I think he knew that Aldrich was never going to stay in his life. And a year of being around someone and them just...disappearing like that? I didn’t expect it to be easy on Peter, but it hurt him more than I anticipated. Aldrich didn’t make it any less difficult. It took almost a month for the breakup to be final, and nearly every day, he’d be around, going from wanting to work it out and trying to be a second father to Peter, to turning around and ignoring him and screaming about how I worked too much and the relationship wasn’t worth it if he never got to see me.” Pepper blinks rapidly, and Phil reaches up to gently brush the tears from her cheeks. “It was terrible, and I’ve regretted ever letting Aldrich into our lives.”

“I just regret that you wouldn’t let me destroy AIM while I had the chance,” Tony mutters darkly as he stabs a fry into the puddle of ketchup on his plate.

“It wasn’t worth it,” sighs Pepper, sounding like she’s had this argument many times already.

“It’s always worth it if some dickhead gets what he deserves for making my child and his mother upset.”

“I’m with Tony on this,” Steve says.

“Steve!”

He laughs as Pepper balls up a napkin and tosses it at his face; a warmth grows in his chest when he realises that the haunted expression in Pepper’s eyes is now gone, and he's pleased to have played some part in that. He lets Tony lean against him, at peace and content with the way the night is going.

Pepper kisses Steve's cheek, wipes away the lipstick print, and murmurs, “Thank you for taking care of my boys. And Steve? Make sure you keep reminding Tony that you love him. He tends to believe he's unlovable no matter how much we say otherwise.”

“Thank you, Pepper.”

“Hey, Tony, you should tell James.”

“Rhodey already knows about Steve,” Tony calls back from where he's standing by the car. “Told him a long time ago.”

“I swear, if he knew before I did, I will put this heel through your temple, mister!”

Tony laughs loudly, ducking into the driver's seat and quickly yanking the door shut before Pepper can reach him. Phil chuckles, grabs Pepper's hand, and tugs her away toward his own vehicle, even as Pepper mimes smacking Tony with a shoe. Steve watches them go before he slides into the passenger seat. Tony reaches over and cups Steve's jaw with a hand, turning his face. The kiss they share is soft with just the right amount of heat and promise of less tender moments in the near future. Steve moans into the kiss, tries to push further into it, but Tony pulls away.

“Not here, unless you want to add an indecent exposure charge to that criminal record of yours.”

“You'd be worth it.”

“As would you, but let's not do that. Poor Darcy doesn't need to be scarred for life.”

Steve glances out the windshield to see Darcy standing in the large window, her face nearly pressed to the glass, and he laughs, waves goodbye. “What are you talkin’ about? She'd record it and keep that video forever.”

“True,” Tony admits after a pause. “I was giving her innocence some credit.”

Steve gives him a flat, unimpressed look, but Tony doesn’t react much beyond a quiet chuckle before he puts the car in gear and points the wheels toward home.

… … …

“Petey-bug, c’mon, kiddo! It’s time for school!”

Peter emerges from the bathroom, stomping down the hallway, and flops face-first onto the couch. “I don’t wanna go.”

“Sorry, bud, but ya gotta. School’s important.”

“School’s dumb.”

“Pete. Look at me.”

Peter barely turns his head enough to peer at Steve. Steve kneels down beside the couch and runs a hand over Peter’s curls, and the child’s eyelashes flutter at the contact. The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds in the silence of the room, but Steve doesn’t push Peter to talk. He’s learned over the last year that Peter will talk when he’s ready. Thankfully, he’s proven right when Peter takes a shuddering breath.

“People at school make fun of me.”

“What? Why?”

“‘Cause I have three daddies.”

“Oh, buddy, I’m sorry you’re dealin’ with this. Did you tell a teacher?”

“They get meaner when I tell,” Peter replies in a tremulous voice, and Steve barely gets the child wrapped up in a tight hug before he’s sobbing. “I love my three daddies, but I don’t like being made fun of.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know how bad it feels. How ‘bout this. I can take the morning off from work, and we can walk to school together, okay? Then I can talk to your principal while you go to class, and I’ll come eat lunch with you. Would you like that?”

“I don’t want to go to school, though.”

Steve sighs, holds Peter close, and thinks of his options. With a soft kiss to Peter’s hair, he gently sets Peter onto the couch and pulls his phone from his pocket.

“What happened?”

He lets out a huff of laughter and heads toward the bedroom. “Why is it you always jump to the worst possible conclusion, Tony? I could just be calling to tell you I love you and that I’m thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

“Are you?”

“No,” he admits reluctantly. “It’s true, but that’s not why I’m callin’. Pete doesn’t wanna go to school today.”

“Why? He _loves_ school.”

“Evidently, there are some kids who are teasing him for having three dads. So is it okay if I let him stay home today, and then we can go in tomorrow to talk to the principal?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll let Pep know what’s going on. Thanks, Steve.”

“Not a problem. Poor kid doesn’t deserve this.”

“I know. I’ll try to come home early today. If this meeting doesn’t run too long, I should be able to get there around lunchtime.”

“Okay. I’ll tell Peter. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Tony hangs up without anything further, and Steve heads back down the hall to the living room. Peter is still curled up on the couch, his tiny body fitting on one cushion. Steve ignores the way his heart aches at the misery on the child's face and sits next to him.

“I just called your dad.”

Peter shrugs.

“Come here, bug. Look, I know it's hard being bullied and picked on, so we all think it's a good idea for you to stay home today, but we'll all be there in the morning to talk to your principal about what's going on, okay? I'm not sayin’ the teachers are blameless for what's happening, but if you don't tell anyone, no one can try to make it better. But that's for tomorrow. Today, we are going to go to my work for a bit, then we'll go to lunch when your dad gets out of his meeting.”

Peter nods slowly, tucking his head tighter under Steve's chin. They sit in silence for a while. Finally, the child pushes away and goes to grab his schoolbag; Steve watches as he dumps out his workbooks and shoves a sketchbook, paperback reading book, and his box of colouring supplies into the bag before heading to the door to pull his shoes on.

“Walker Elementary, this is Maria Hill.”

“Hi, Miss Hill, it's Steve Rogers. Uh, Peter Parker isn't feeling very well today, so he won't be in school.”

“Okay, Mister Rogers, I'll make a note of it, and his teacher will gather up any homework he might have today. Anything else?”

“Yeah, is there any way you can schedule a meeting with the principal tomorrow morning for his parents? There's...somethin' they need to discuss with him.”

“Of course. Mister Sitwell has a ten a.m. block open, if that would work?”

“Yeah, yes, that's perfect. Thank you, Miss Hill.”

“Not a problem. Tell Peter we hope he feels better soon.”

“Thanks.”

The office is quiet when Peter and Steve step through the doors, but it doesn't last long: as soon as Pietro catches sight of the child, he all but throws his marker to the desk and rushes over, scooping Peter up and spinning around. Hearing Peter giggle maniacally eases some of the tightness in Steve's chest, and he smiles as he makes his way to his own desk. He knows Peter is in good hands. Everyone he works with adores Peter, and he's become a regular fixture in the office when school isn't in session. It isn't until he hears Peter screeching “Pop!” that Steve looks up from the panel he's filling in. Phil crouches down by the desk Peter sits at, the child's arms wrapping tight around his neck.

“Hey, kiddo, I've missed you.”

“Missed you, too, Pop. Daddy and Papa let me stay home today.”

Phil makes a show of looking around the room. “When did you move into an office building?”

“Pop!” Peter giggles. “This isn't _home_. This is _work_!”

“Oh, well, I guess I just thought you lived here because you're always here!”

Phil ruffles Peter's curls before standing and catching Steve's eyes. He jerks his chin toward the hallway, and Steve nods, closing his comic book and rising to his feet. He stops by Kate's chair, asking her in an undertone to keep an eye on Peter; she agrees readily, so Steve follows Phil into the corridor.

“Pepper called me,” says Phil as soon as the door is closed behind Steve. “Is he okay?”

“I think so. He says he didn't tell anyone because he doesn't want it to get worse.”

Phil sighs “That's common in bullied children. Is there a meeting set up with the principal?”

“Yeah, tomorrow morning. Hopefully, somethin' happens, because I don't think I can stand to see Peter like this any more.”

“Neither can I. We'll all figure something out, Steve, don't worry.” He hesitates. “I better get back. Skye should be done with the makeup by now, but, uh, make sure you check your mail today.”

“Um, okay?”

Phil just gives that mysterious smile of his that he's so fond of giving before disappearing through the doors of the photography section. Steve stares after him for a moment but ultimately knows he isn't going to get any answers if Phil doesn't want to give them; he huffs out a laugh and heads back to his desk to wait until Tony arrives.

… … … …

Peter slumps against the wall in the corridor, puffing his cheeks out before letting his breath escape on a raspberry. Steve bites back the knee-jerk reaction of telling him to stop, forces himself to remember that Peter is just a child and isn’t actively seeking out ways of being a nuisance. Instead, Steve kneels down in front of the six-year-old and pokes his nose gently.

“Hey, I think your mom should be almost ready. Want me to see if you can go see her?”

“Daddy says it should be a surprise.”

“Yes, but only for Pop, because Pop’s the one marrying her. But you and Daddy? You get to see how beautiful Mommy looks before anyone else.”

“Can I really?”

“Lemme go ask, kiddo. Stay here, okay?”

Peter makes a show of standing tall and clapping his hands to his sides, and Steve grins widely before taking three steps down the hall to knock on the door to the changing room. Pepper’s sister, Charlotte, pulls the door open just a crack, and her eyes examine the space behind Steve closely.

“Good. No Phil. What’s up, Steve?”

“Peter’s gettin’ antsy to see his mom. She ready?”

“I’m ready enough for him!” Pepper calls from out of sight, and Charlotte rolls her eyes.

“Please get the little munchkin in here. His mother has been going crazy worrying about whether or not he’s getting to be too much to handle or too bored or whatever.”

Peter is at Steve’s side immediately, bouncing on his toes as he waits anxiously for his aunt to let them in. Thankfully, she does so as soon as Peter is ready; Steve ushers Peter in first then follows suit, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of Pepper standing across the room as she checks her reflection in the full-length mirror. Tony is beside her and staring at her like he’s never seen anyone more radiant, and if Steve is being honest, he’s hard-pressed to come up with even one person who has ever looked as gorgeous and flawless as Peter’s mother does right now. The pink-gold colour of the dress complements her skin, accents the redness of her hair which has been pulled back into an elegant bun with locks of hair curled to frame her face; she runs her hands over the lace-covered bodice, smooths out the hem where lace meets chiffon.

“Mommy, you look _amazing_.”

Pepper sniffs and swipes her fingers under her eyes. “Thank you, baby. And look at you! You are so handsome right now.”

Peter’s chest puffs with pride, and he swaggers around the room to display the tux that he’s been dressed in. Steve chuckles and sits on the arm of the sofa nearby, watches the proceedings. Peter strutting seems to have strengthened Pepper’s fragile grasp on her emotions, because her eyes are no longer filled with tears, and she’s smiling as her gaze tracks her son’s movements.

“What do you think, Steve?”

At Tony’s voice, Steve catches Pepper’s eye in the mirror, and he can’t help but smile. He stands and crosses the room, gathers up her hands in his, and ducks to press a barely-there kiss to her cheek.

“You are, by far, the most beautiful woman I ever had the pleasure of layin’ my eyes on.”

Her lips tremble, and she lets Steve pull her in for a close embrace. He only holds her for a moment, then he releases her and motions toward the door. Pepper nods and sniffles; Steve makes his way to the door, stopping only to squeeze Peter's shoulder. He follows the path of dainty yellow petals spread on the floor, takes care not to crush them under his dress shoe. The seats lined up outside are filling quickly, family and friends greeting each other and smiling in the sea-salt breeze. An enormous canopy, gauzy and flowing, has already been set up at the front, and Steve quickly finds his seat. Steve had been surprised when Pepper had asked him to sit on her side of the aisle, but she laughed and told him that he should have expected it, he will always be her family now.

The string quartet starts playing, and the guests straighten in their seats. The officiant comes first, followed by Pepper’s mother. James Rhodes makes his way down the aisle next with a woman on each arm. Steve hasn’t officially met Rhodes, but he’s heard plenty of stories about his and Tony’s wilders days back in college, back before Rhodes went into the Air Force. Plans to meet before now have always fallen through, which Steve understands ー military commitments are hard to navigate around. Behind the groomsmen and bridesmaids comes the maid of honour arm-in-arm with the best man, Nick Fury; this is only the third time of Steve being in Fury’s presence, never mind the fact that Fury owns SHIELD, and Steve still can’t get a read on the other man. He shakes off the discomfort at Fury being a stranger and turns to watch Peter bouncing down the long carpet, a pale-blue satin pillow in hands. Thankfully, someone’s thought ahead and tied the rings to the pillow before letting the child be responsible for their journey down the aisle.

Steve stands when everyone else does, and as one, the group turns to face the back end of the aisle. Tony is beaming as he walks arm-in-arm with the gorgeous bride. Her gaze is solely on Phil, brimming with unshed tears and a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Steve catches Tony’s eye as they pass, and Tony winks quickly before he steps forward again. The ceremony seems to go by in a blur, vows being spoken in love-filled voices that brings a tear to even Steve’s eyes, the gentle crash of waves in the background. When the minister pronounces them man and wife, the cacophony of voices cheering drowns out everything else, except for Peter’s shrieked “ _Yuck_!” Steve laughs but doesn’t move from his seat; he doesn’t want to ruin the pictures that the photographer is taking.

Photographs taken, everyone congregates in the reception area set up further down the beach. The next few hours are spent dancing to a variety of different kinds of music, sipping on a glass of champagne, and keeping an eye on Peter as Tony and Pepper spin around the dancefloor. The sun dips lower to the horizon as time wears on; an occasional flash from the camera dazzles Steve, but he ignores it as much as possible, intent on making sure that Peter isn’t getting hurt or lost. Steve watches Pepper and Tony swaying to the music, talking quietly to each other, and he can see how they could have worked. They seem to be in such complete sync with each other, and even when Tony manages to annoy and frustrate Pepper, she’s yet to leave his side. It doesn’t matter that their romantic relationship failed, they’re still so close and compatible, and their friendship is enviable. As much as Steve loves the way Tony and Pepper raise their child and interact together, he’s selfishly glad they never worked out. He is thankful that he has what he has with Tony and Peter, and even Pepper and Phil. He smiles down at a dozing Peter leaning against his chest, presses a soft kiss to the child’s hair.

No one seems to notice, really, when the newlyweds, Tony, and Steve disappear from the reception; Phil and Steve stay a couple steps behind the parents as they head toward the suites Tony is paying for as yet another wedding gift to Pepper and Phil. Steve rests his shoulder against the doorframe of Peter’s room and watches as Pepper brushes a stray curl from her son’s face. Peter stirs a bit, his eyes fluttering open. Steve’s heart clenches tightly in his chest, a pleasant warmth spreading outwards, at the small smile that makes its way onto the kid’s face.

“‘Z’it over?”

“Yeah, kiddo, the wedding is over, and it’s time for a little pipsqueak to get some sleep.” Tony leans down to kiss Peter’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, Pete. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Daddy, and guess what.”

“What’s that?”

“Now you can marry Steve, so he can be my other daddy just like Pop!”

Steve claps a hand over his mouth and nose at the snorting laugh that escapes him. Thankfully, only Phil seems to have heard it; he pats Steve’s bicep and turns away so that neither man bursts into laughter. Even Pepper seems to be fighting her own mirth. Tony sighs, cards his fingers through Peter’s hair.

“Still on this, buddy?”

“You love him, and I love him, and he loves us, and you said you’d only ever want to get married if someone loves me ‘nuff and Steve _does_ , he loves me lots, so why won’t you marry him?” Peter whines, sniffling, and Steve isn’t sure if the kid is beyond tired, and therefore more emotional than usual, or if he’s just a damn good actor.

Tony hesitates, staring down at his child, before glancing over his shoulder at Steve. Steve shrugs with a small smile, waves his hand in a motion to mean _I’ll follow through with whatever you say_. The corner of Tony’s mouth twitches, quirks upwards, but he focuses on Peter once more.

“How about this. Steve and I will talk about it, okay? But there’s no guarantee he’ll say yes, and you, my wonderful little meddler, will have to just deal with whatever answer you get. Fair?”

“Not really,” Peter groans, “but okay.”

The quartet doesn’t move until Peter’s breath lets out in a shuddering puff and he’s completely asleep; Pepper and Tony exit the room silently, and Steve pulls the door nearly shut, leaving a strip of light to illuminate the room beyond. Tony tugs on Pepper’s hand, guiding her into a tight embrace.

“I blame you for his logic, Mrs Coulson.”

“I accept full responsibility for that,” Pepper replies, beaming as she kisses Tony’s cheek; she turns to Steve, extends her arms out for a hug. As soon as she’s close enough, she whispers in his ear, “Thank you for taking care of my boys, so much. It means everything to me that they have someone as wonderful as you.”

“Thank you for letting me,” he murmurs in response before he leans back enough to press his lips to her temple. “Thank you for helping them be who they are.”

Within moments, Phil has whisked Pepper away into the honeymoon suite, and Steve laces his fingers with Tony’s, nudging the other man toward the enormous glass doors that lead out to the darkened terrace. Steve grabs the throw blanket off the back of the couch; it isn’t too terribly chilly outside, though the sun has been set for a couple of hours, but there’s something about holding Tony tight under a blanket, the sky dotted with thousands of stars even if they can’t see them through the haze of fluorescent orange and smog that permeates Brooklyn, and enjoying the warmth and comfort that comes with having his arms around the man he loves… It’s intoxicating, and Steve loves every second of it. He collapses onto the lounger, the wicker frame creaking softly under his weight, and shuffles to get more comfortable on the thick, conforming padding. Once he’s settled, he raises his arms to allow Tony to sit on his legs. Tony exhales heavily as he reclines against Steve’s chest, and Steve nuzzles his nose into his partner’s neck.

“Today has been incredibly long,” announces Tony with a long, low groan. “I love Pepper, I really do, and Hell, I even like Phil, but I am so glad that it’s over.”

“I’m sure they’re glad it’s over, too. I mean, they’re married now, and they get to go on a vacation and just be by themselves for an entire two weeks. No Pepper having to put out your fires, no Pepper having to wrangle you into a board meeting, no ー”

Tony laughs, quiet and bright in the dim glow filtering through the glass. “You’ve made your point, Steven, Pepper gets a break from me.”

“Which means I get you all to myself,” Steve whispers before nipping at Tony’s throat.

“Nope, gotta share me with Pete, not even sorry.”

“I’m not sorry, either.”

“Have…have you thought about it before?”

“What, marriage with you?”

“Yeah.” Tony shrugs and stares at the deep navy sky, and Steve knows him well enough to know when Tony is trying to avoid looking at him, seeing something in Steve’s face that Steve isn’t aware he’s even expressing, something that could hurt Tony though he’d never admit it. “I mean, I know you said that Peter’s mentioned it, but after we all agreed we wouldn’t talk about it in front of him, you never brought it up again. And I don’t blame you, it’s awkward as Hell to have that kind of conversation, especially in front of your partner’s ex and her new partner, so the fact you never said anything else didn’t really raise any alarms, then Peter asked again tonight, and…” He trails off, his words fade into the dark like wisps of smoke that disappear on the slightest breeze.

Steve tightens his grip on Tony, thinking hard about the words he wants to use. It’s been almost two years since Tony slammed into his life with the grace of a runaway freight train, and whatever Steve says now _has_ to reflect the wonderful, chaotic, brilliant, beautiful upheaval that’s taken over his life, how he would never willingly give everything up, how he’s come to absolutely relish the way his life is now. He takes a deep breath, splays a hand across Tony’s hips.

“I didn’t think about it much, after Peter initially put the thought into my head. Then…it became more of a consistent thing. I don’t even remember now what you did, I honestly can’t, but… I think you were just pacing the living room, singing to Peter as you carried him back and forth because, uh, right, he had that ear infection really bad, remember? And you were trying so hard to get him to sleep because he was just so exhausted but he couldn’t because of the pain, a-and you looked absolutely wrecked, and I wanted to make it better, make _everything_ better. That’s when the first thought came, ya know? The whole ‘What would it be like, to actually be married to you?’”

“It’s a lot like dating me, only with more legal benefits,” quips Tony, even as his expression smooths out and his lips twitch.

Steve snorts and buries his face against Tony’s shoulder. “Oh, yes, gotta marry for that excellent dental.”

“Absolutely. If you’re not getting hitched for dental, what even is the point?” He pauses; his fingers thread through Steve’s, squeezing tightly. “Let’s give it six months. Let the newlyweds bask in their newlyweddedness. Then we can announce it.”

Steve hesitates. “Tony? Are...are you...asking me to, to marry you?”

“No, don’t be stupid. I’m asking you to say yes when I ask you in six months to marry me. We’re, hm… We’re engaged to be engaged, if you will.”

A laugh forces its way out of Steve’s chest. He can’t stop chuckling for a long few moments. Tony’s eyes are bright, happy, when Steve finally manages to calm down. He cups Tony’s jaw with a hand, turns his face so that he can press a kiss to his partner’s lips. When they part, Steve tilts his chin and kisses the end of Tony’s nose.

“I accept your proposal of being engaged to be engaged.” He grins widely. “You sure are somethin’ else, Tony.”

“You’re going to marry me, so what’s that say about you?”

“That I’m going to have an amazing, wonderful, perfect fiancé in six months.”

Even in the low light, Steve can see the way Tony’s cheeks flush, his lashes fall to fan across his cheekbones, his bottom lip gets caught between his teeth. A sigh escapes onto the soft, salty breeze, and Steve secures his partner ー his _future fiancé_ ー in his arms, laces their fingers together, and stares at the velvety black overhead, stars twinkling against the void of space beyond. Between the warmth of Tony pressed against him, the knowledge that his future stepson is just in the other room sleeping peacefully, the tang of salt in the warm air, and the sound of waves as they crash on the shore in the distance… Steve is hard-pressed to remember when he’s ever been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> [THIS ART IS THE CUTEST OMG](https://acastleintheair.tumblr.com/post/179910463160/emergency-babysitter-steves-been-left-with-his). Thank you so much, [Mia](http://acastleintheair.tumblr.com)!


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